


Pop and Licorice

by clefabletime



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Art, Attempted Sexual Assault, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Presents, Bitter Exes, Coffee, Denial of Feelings, Drawing, Drunken Kissing, Ink, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Nudity, Oral Sex, Painting, Podfic Welcome, Sloppy Makeouts, Teddy Bears, Vomiting, assault with a blunt instrument
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14597604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clefabletime/pseuds/clefabletime
Summary: When Mr. Krabs takes on a new business venture, Squidward has a moment of weakness.





	1. Shirley Temple

**Author's Note:**

> Over a year away from writing and I come up with this - different fandom, different characters, different vibes. I'm pretty happy with how this is turning out, and I hope you all like it! I've had these dweebs on the brain for a good month now.

It was a horrible idea.

It was a horrible, ridiculous, _stupid_ idea.

And yet, here he was, Squidward Q. Tentacles, standing at his usual post at the Krusty Krab - or, rather, the “Krusty _Klub_ ,” as, in a stroke of “brilliance,” Mr. Krabs decided to repurpose his third-rate grease trap into a third-rate nightclub on Friday and Saturday nights. Tonight was the grand opening, and Squidward, despite his protesting, was assigned the role of cashier-slash-bartender-slash-front-of-house for the event, a position which was to be filled following his eight-hour Krusty Krab cashier shift, of course - Krabs wouldn’t even let Squidward go home between shifts, instead making him help set up the restaurant’s new layout.

He looked down at his watch - five minutes to eight. With a heavy sigh and roll of his eyes, he strode - as slowly as he possibly could - to his new “position” at the bar.

The bar was, in reality, several of the captain’s-wheel-style tables interlocked with one another - very haphazardly, Squidward noted to himself, but it was the best they could do without - Neptune _forbid_ \- spending money on an actual bar, or even a crude substitute like a plank of driftwood.

Squidward took the lull before the doors opened as an opportunity to quickly reference his pocket-sized copy of _Bartending for Nitwits_ \- while he enjoyed a glass of red on occasion, Squidward knew next to nothing about mixed drinks, and was trying to cram the necessary ingredients and proportions for a few popular drinks into his long-term memory before anything was actually ordered.

Two more minutes now. A large tumult could be heard from outside the doors, and because the lights were down inside, Squidward could see a massive crowd beginning to form, backlit by the setting sun and streetlamps.

This was going to be a rough night - Squidward couldn’t remember a time at which there had been such a huge turnout at the Krusty Krab, except possibly the time Mr. Krabs had proposed a “two Krabby Patties for the price of two” day.

Bikini Bottomites could be so stupid - it was hardly surprising anymore.

Squidward sighed again. At least Spongebob wasn’t working tonight - the little yellow menace had actually been barred from any sort of involvement - creative, culinary, or otherwise - with the “Klub,” as Mr. Krabs was desperately trying to be in with the “cool” crowd. From what Squidward had heard of his night of debauchery with Spongebob and Patrick, Mr. Krabs seemed convinced that Spongebob had no idea what was actually “cool” to the general public - it was only natural that he’d want to keep such a volatile anti-hip force away from a (comparatively) large business venture.

And since it was _technically_ a different business under a different name, Squidward wasn’t _technically_ being illegally overworked. This was just a “second job.” For a skin-flinted navy crab, Mr. Krabs sure did know a lot about legal jargon - Squidward supposed he had to to get away with paying Spongebob and him what he did for how much work they put in.

Squidward could only laugh to himself  at whatever sort of ideas Spongebob would have come up with for the Klub - maybe he’d have set up a bubble station off in the corner. He actually snorted at the idea of Spongebob leading a group of fish in his”patented” bubble-blowing technique.

_“...then you do this, and this, and this and that and this and that and this and that and THEN-”_

Maybe having Spongebob around _would_ make things more interesting.

His thoughts of Spongebob’s potential dweeb-ery were halted by Mr. Krabs scuttling to the front of the restaurant and unlocking the doors - at least a hundred of Bikini Bottom’s citizens poured into the dining area, now lit only by a few overhead lamps and spinning colored spotlights. It was laughably tacky, but Squidward’s talents in interior design were quashed by Mr. Krabs’ budget - which was absolutely nothing. Still, the people came, and they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves - supposedly the idea of getting a drink at the same place one could get a Krabby Patty was a strong motivator.

(Squidward didn’t know how he would handle relaying the news that without Spongebob working, there wouldn’t be bar food of any sort, but he figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.)

It was five minutes before Squidward had to break out _Bartending for Nitwits._ After stupidly asking a customer: “an ‘old-fashioned’ _what?_ ” upon taking their order, Squidward blushed and grimaced at the realization that that _was_ the order, and quickly ran back to the register to grab the ingredients, as there was nowhere at the “bar” in which he could actually store bottles of alcohol. Dashing back over, he carefully eyed the recipe as he slowly added the various liquors to a rocks glass - sweat formed on his brow as the customer looked progressively more irritated at the time he was taking to make his drink. Finally, after giving the recipe a second and third review, he deemed it “done” and handed it to the customer, who took a sip, seemed (thankfully) satisfied, and strode off to the dance floor after slipping Squidward an extra dollar with his payment. Before Squidward could even think of pocketing it, Mr. Krabs was on him like a sea bear, pinching the bill from his suction cups, congratulating Squidward on earning a tip, and laughing to himself as he walked away with it.

Grumbling to himself, Squidward took to focusing on his several other orders. As he went, he found he had to tab through his book less and less frequently - he was actually getting the hang of this whole customer service thing! If he kept this up, this shift might actually go by reasonably quickly.

“Oh, _hi_ , Squidward!”

No. It couldn’t be.

Squidward looked up from wiping off the bar to see a familiar, yellow, _square_ face.

It _was._ And Patrick. Of course Patrick would be here, too.

“Spongebob!” Squidward sputtered. He almost knocked over a glass that was resting on the bar, waiting to be cleaned. “What are you doing here?! Mr. Krabs said you couldn’t work tonight! I was looking forward to some peace and quiet!”

Spongebob laughed that _Neptune-forsaken laugh._

“I’m not here to work, silly! I just wanted to check out the Klub! Looks like Mr. Krabs really pulled out the stops! Everything looks great!” Spongebob gestured towards the dance floor, the lights, and the bar.

Squidward made a noise of detest. “Yeah, sure - about as great as anyone could do with Pearl’s old birthday decorations and thirty spare minutes.”

“Even _you_ look good, Squidward!” Squidward groaned at the compliment, but he found his body betraying his attempt at aloofness as his cheeks grew warm. “I love the new uniform! It was nice of Mr. Krabs to give you an all new shirt for opening night!” Squidward looked down - oh right, he was wearing something different: a black T-shirt with the Krusty Klub logo printed on it - he had been so busy that he had forgotten that he had changed earlier.

Squidward scoffed again. “As if - this shirt came out of my paycheck.” Feeling a lull in their conversation that could only lead to his continued participation, Squidward decided to cut straight to the matter of business. “Anyway, what’ll you have?”

He looked at Patrick first - his eyes were glazed over in what anyone else may have mistaken for thought - Squidward knew better. Patrick groaned, scratching his forehead with the stubby end of his arm.

“I’m not sure…” he started. Squidward looked directly at Spongebob, his only audience at the moment, as if to telepathically communicate “ _please end my suffering.”_ He didn’t seem to pick up on it. Or maybe he did and was just _letting_ him suffer - who knows?

“Uh, I just know that I don’t want any of the hard stuff,” Patrick continued. He closed his eyes and patted his chest with pride. “I’m the des-ig-na-ted driver,” he said, struggling to get all four syllables of “designated” out in the correct order. Again, Squidward looked at Spongebob, raising an eyebrow - since when did Patrick drive?

Spongebob leaned in and held up a hand to shield his lips from Patrick’s gaze - a trick that probably wouldn’t have worked on anyone besides Patrick.

“He’s got a license at least,” Spongebob whispered, smiling in a way that made Squidward think Spongebob was actually _embarrassed_ , if that were possible of someone who was so shamelessly irritating. “He thinks that makes him the ‘DD’ no matter what the situation. Just go with it.”

“Fine,” said Squidward. “Whatever. What do you want?”

Patrick continued to drone as he considered his options, so Squidward turned to look at Spongebob expectantly, as if to request his order instead.

“A Shirley Temple,” Spongebob said, “Virgin.” Spongebob punctuated the order with a wink, a click of his tongue, and a single finger gun, which could only prompt a flat sigh from Squidward. Based on his prior experiences with Spongebob, Squidward wasn’t actually sure if he was making a joke, or if Spongebob was actually unaware of the fact that Shirley Temples don’t have any alcohol in them. Leafing through his trusty guide, he fulfilled the order, and at a much quicker pace than those of his past attempts - whatever would get them out of here faster.

Squidward slid the tall glass over to Spongebob with an unenthused “here you go,” watching as he took the first sip of the pink, fizzy beverage  - Spongebob’s lips curled into a wide grin around the straw as he enjoyed it. Squidward’s eyes trailed a drop moving down from Spongebob’s bottom lip to his chin-

“-Oooh! I want one too, Squidward! Could I have one of those, please?”

Patrick’s hollering snapped Squidward out of whatever trance he was in - was he really just staring at Spongebob’s _mouth?_

_Ugh._

Feeling his cheeks grow hot again, he stammered a “sure” and took to making Patrick’s drink. He heard his pulse roaring in his ears - why did he _do_ that? Spongebob was the _last_ person he’d… _check out,_ even if there _was_ a certain _something_ to his….Spongebob-i-ness.

What? What did that even _mean?_

Squidward needed to calm down - he was just overworked, that’s all! He had been working for at least ten straight hours now. Squidward just needed a break is all, and he’d come back to his senses.

As if on cue, Mr. Krabs arrived at the bar to relieve Squidward for his 15-minute unpaid break. After handing Patrick his Shirley Temple, Squidward placed a fold-up sign at his position to explain his absence, and headed to the back to clock out. When he returned, Squidward noticed a gift form Mr. Krabs left at the register - a reasonably-sized half-price soda cup (the cost of which, Squidward presumed, was to be taken from his own paycheck.) Squidward stepped behind the counter to retrieve it.

Spongebob’s cackle rang out from behind him - he was probably laughing at something Patrick said. Almost immediately the vivid image of Spongebob’s mouth flooded Squidward’s brain. Warmth spread through the whole of him this time as the thought of Spongebob’s glistening, pinkish lower lip permeated his thoughts, complete with the motion of his tongue catching the stray droplets of his drink.

Stop, stop _stop, stop, STOP._ Whatever this was, he had to drown it out. _Now._

It was a horrible decision, definitely to be reprimanded later, but Squidward was thoughtless and desperate as he, moving his tentacles below the counter so as not to arise suspicion, dumped several shots’ worth of whatever Mr. Krabs had on hand into his cup. Going slowly so as not to splash, he casually sauntered over to the soda fountain to top off the ‘cocktail,’ so it at least looked like he was drinking soda.

He was going to regret this, definitely, but he needed to rid himself of whatever this was that was plaguing him, and at this point he didn’t care what it took to do so. He plopped himself down at the bar, a good three seats away from Spongebob and Patrick, and peered over the edge of his cup. Almost immediately, Spongebob whipped around to face him, the top half of his torso turning a full 180 degrees while his lower half stayed put.

“Hey Squiddy!” Squidward’s stomach churned at that - Spongebob and his stupid nicknames - he didn’t bother trying to look him in the eye. “How’s the night been going? The place seems pretty popular! Looks like this idea might be a keeper!”

Squidward did turn, finally. He attempted a smile. He failed. “Hey Sponge?”

To which Spongebob replied, “Yeah, Squid?” with his usual corny smile, the gap between his two front teeth on full display. He rested his chin on his folded hands, awaiting Squidward’s next words with eagerness he didn’t really deserve.

Squidward ground his teeth - he didn’t know why, but Spongebob’s smile was not helping right now.

_Stop looking at his mouth, stop looking at his mouth, stop looking at his-_

“Just...for the next fifteen minutes, can you like,” he paused to close his eyes and inhale before continuing. “Pretend I’m not here?” There was a beat - an agonizingly-long-and-still-somehow-one-second pause - before either of them said anything.

“Pretend who’s not here?” Spongebob said, smiling again. He winked, as if to assure Squidward know he’d stay out of his hair, before turning back around to face Patrick.

Squidward sighed and redirected his attention to the concoction before him. He swirled it in the cup before taking a tentative sip - he shuddered as his face contorted in on itself. It was horrible - it burned on the way down; it was way too sweet; it almost had a _viscosity_ , about which he tried not to think too hard. How was he supposed to finish _this_ in fifteen minutes?

He could still hear Spongebob and Patrick chatting away to his right - his eyes rolled as the word “Mermaidman” would occasionally come up - those two had no taste in entertainment _._

_Entertainment._

And suddenly, Squidward had an idea - one that would not only help him get through his drink, but also one that would make this break pretty interesting.

Like many of his “ideas” tonight, it was not a particularly bright one, but at this rate, he was willing to do whatever he needed to do to get through this shift.

Every time Spongebob would do something particularly annoying, he’d drink.

Spongebob laughs? Drink.

The topic of conversation shifts to jellyfishing, comic books, karate, bubbles, or any combination of the four? Take a swig or two.

Spongebob took to the dance floor when a particularly upbeat song arrived next in the queue, and Squidward couldn’t look away, struggling to hold back his laughter as he made an absolute _fool_ of himself in the middle of the restaurant, gyrating and flopping all over the place as Patrick hooted and whooped, cheering him on from his stool. To that, Squidward tipped his plastic cup all the way back, swallowing the final mouthful of the swill just as his “back to work” timer went off.

Squidward had done it - he had defeated the alcohol. Now all he had to do was ride out the rest of the night, and closing was just over a half hour away. He pushed himself up from his chair...

...and immediately had to catch himself on the bar as all four of his legs gave out from under him.

It was now occurring to Squidward, as his tentacles failed to move in their usual two-by-two unison, instead flopping against the floor each at their own rate, that he had perhaps made a mistake in this endeavor. He had made it behind the bar, somehow, but was already struggling to see straight between the flashing lights, the pounding music, and of course, the eight-or-so ounces of red-licorice-flavored liquor and pop he had just shotgunned.

Spongebob had returned to the bar, giving Squidward a cheery wave before he sat back down next to Patrick, who was still working on his Shirley Temple somehow. Maybe he couldn’t figure out the straw. Squidward felt his right arm lift as if to wave back at him, but he grabbed it with his left and brought it back down. Spongebob cast him a sort of awkward look, his brows furrowed slightly, but continued his conversation.

Squidward huffed and slumped against the bar, propping himself up with both his left elbow and his right tentacle, curled under his chin. Luckily, the stragglers that remained this late at night seemed preoccupied with dancing and he didn’t have any actual drinks to make, or might actually be in real trouble - he has having trouble holding on to _Bartending for Nitwits,_ let alone reading it.

His eyes slowly drifted, as if one after the other due to his current state, to Spongebob. He was telling Patrick about his most recent expedition to Jellyfish Fields, and showing off his “battle scars,” which were just individual bumps, bruises, and stings that had long healed. A goofy grin had spread across Squidward’s face at the bravado Spongebob used to recount his tale, which had Patrick totally enraptured. Occasionally Spongebob would smile when their conversation lulled, but not in his usual, overly-cheery way, but with a level of calm that just read as basic, unleaded happiness.

It was almost...sort of cute.

_What?!_

He didn’t think that. He did _not_ just think that - _Neptune,_ no. Squidward immediately looked downward as his stomach turned for at least the third time that night, twisting itself into unbearable knots. He was finally snapping - after all of these years of being forced to coexist with Spongebob, he was going completely crazy. Sweat beaded and dripped down his forehead and onto the bar, his tentacles gripping the wood with a force that could cause it to splinter as he tried to keep himself from having an alcohol-fueled anxiety attack right there in the middle of the restaurant.

This did not go unnoticed.

“Um, Squidward? You’re not lookin’ too hot,” said Spongebob. Squidward’s head whipped up to look at him, wide-eyed, his expression almost feral. His throat was dry - words weren’t forming as quickly as he wanted them to, and Spongebob just kept… _looking_ at him!

“Are you okay?” pressed Spongebob. His expression was one of genuine concern, which only made Squidward feel worse.

“Y-yeah,” Squidward spat. “I’m just gon… gonna.”

 _Gonna what? Gonna_ **_what,_ ** _Squidward?!_

“Use the bathroom! I’ll be….right back,” he drawled, trying his best to enunciate every syllable so as not to seem suspicious.

He seemed very suspicious, of course, but it didn’t stop him from staggering to the restroom, trying to conceal himself in the shadows. His tentacles clumsily flopped across the floor, as if trying to motor ahead of his torso and get him there faster.

Launching himself into the restroom, Squidward made a jellyfish-line for the sinks, and doused his face with cold water. He eyed his reflection in the mirror - Spongebob was right - he looked terrible. His face was flushed; his eyes were sunken in, and they just kept drifting off in their own respective directions. His guts panged again, nausea overriding any coherent thoughts, and he resisted all of his urges to just collapse.

Squidward slapped himself in the face in an attempt to bring himself back from the brink of throwing up.

“Pull it... _together,_ Squidward,” he slurred, hiccuping as the contents of his stomach threatened to empty onto the floor. “You’ll get through this - just...it’s just like, twenty more minutes.” He shook, the pain and dizziness becoming almost unbearable at this point.

“Squidward? Are you all right in here?” Speaking of ‘unbearable,’ Spongebob could be heard entering the restroom to Squidward’s right. Squidward couldn’t even look at him - not unless he wanted Spongebob to be in the line of fire.

“Y-yeah, Sponge,” he said, into the sink drain. His tentacles whitened where he was gripping the porcelain, and his legs were buckling underneath him. “I’m...fine. Go away.”

Spongebob shut the door behind him and approached, unsurprisingly. He always had to do the opposite of what Squidward wanted, didn’t he?

“Really?” Spongebob seemed skeptical - and when someone as naive as Spongebob seemed skeptical, it meant that Squidward was pretty obviously not okay. He eyed Squidward closely, squinting and drumming his fingers on his chin. “Because you’re all purple, and your legs are wobbling, and your words are slurring together, and you’re breathing heavy, and-”

Spongebob continued to list everything immediately observable about a very inebriated Squidward. The noise of his voice bounced and rattled through Squidward’s head, and he felt as though his brain was about to liquefy and seep from his nose.

_Neptune, I’m begging you, Spongebob, just shut up for one patty-flipping second or else I’ll-”_

“-and now you’re shaking, and you’re looking at me real funny all of a sudden, and-”

Something in Squidward snapped - he flung his tentacles from the sink to now grab Spongebob’s sides. His grip tightened to a degree where he thought his suction cups might fuse with his body, and he swiftly dragged him upwards so that their faces were level. Normally, Spongebob’s legs might have stretched to accommodate this sort of thing, but as he had been caught by surprise, they dangled as Squidward shook him.

 _“Neptune,_ after all these years I don’t understand how you can still be so _dense!”_

Squidward screamed, his eyes wide and locked with those of Spongebob, whose wall-eyed expression was one of utter surprise and confusion. Spongebob licked his lips as if he was going to say something, and Squidward decided that he didn’t want to hear it, whatever it was.

Squidward, in a moment of sheer brilliance, acted upon that thought by forcefully pressing their mouths together.

His mind went blank - it was as if years of tension had left his body all in one action, as if everything made sense in this one moment. Perhaps it was the booze talking, but in this second, Squidward actually didn’t feel totally awful. The kiss was forceful, yes, but Spongebob was soft, and, even as he tilted his head to the right to push deeper-

-wait a second.

At that moment, he realized what he had actually done: he had kissed Spongebob.

He had kissed _Spongebob._

He had _kissed_ Spongebob.

 _He_ had kissed Spongebob.

(And in the Krusty Krab restroom of all places!)

_HE HAD KISSED SPONGEBOB._

He pulled back, afraid of what he was going to see. Spongebob’s eyes were wider than Squidward imagined possible, his mouth gaping and his face bright red.

There was a beat as they stared at each other, heaving from lack of oxygen. There was one solid second before Squidward’s alcohol-ridden brain tried to kick it into high gear and start damage control.

Squidward shrieked in pure panic and anguish. He shrieked louder than he was sure he ever had, and tried to throw Spongebob, still paralyzed with shock and firmly gripped in Squidward’s tentacles, as far away from his body as he could. Despite the force behind the throw, Spongebob’s body was still firmly adhered to Squidward’s suction cups, and he only came careening back to collide with Squidward’s face a second time (this time not as a sloppy kiss, but as more of a blunt force impact.)

Quickly recovering from the blow (it was only Spongebob, after all,) Squidward used two of his feet to pry Spongebob out of his hands with a loud _pop_ , before dashing into a bathroom stall to finally vomit his brains out. It was quick and (relatively) painless, but he shook more violently than before now, his body struggling to process the mixture of adrenaline, anxiety, and alcohol - although the final ingredient had just taken a mass exodus. Over his own retching he could hear Spongebob wordlessly scramble out of the restroom, shoes squeaking all the way.

Great. So much for damage control - Loudmouth Blabberpants was sure to tell everyone what had happened, and Squidward would most definitely lose his job at the Krusty Krab-slash-Klub - more importantly, he thought, he would lose his last remaining shred of dignity, but, if he was being realistic, he had expended that as soon as he took a job there.

He had to make a break for it - this mistake was irredeemable. Pulling himself up from the toilet, he tried to run for the Krusty Krab’s exit, but his legs still wouldn’t cooperate. He’d have to crawl - the lights were still low enough to hide him - if he could just get outside, he’d be in the clear. He’d fix everything about tonight later - right now he just needed to be anywhere but the Krusty Krab.

After practically running on his hands and feet like a toddler across the floor, he finally made it through the glass doors and hit pavement. The cool air outside was refreshing, but even with the brief boost in mental clarity, Squidward still struggled to stand. Using the wall of the Krusty Krab as a balance point, he began to search for his boat.

He had to drive home - he definitely couldn’t walk at this rate, nor could he leave his boat here. He knew it was dangerous - and if he was caught, his scallop was cooked - but it was only a mile away. Not even any stop signs or lights. He’d practically roll there - it’d be nothing.

There was the boat - right where he left it: Right in front of the restaurant.

Neptune, if it was this hard to find his boat right in front of the door, maybe he shouldn’t have been driving. But it had to be done - he had to get out of here and look into a new job, a new town, and quite possibly, a new identity.

But first he’d have to figure out these stupid keys - no matter how many times he clumsily pawed through them, he couldn’t seem to find the right one - it was during his fifth try that Spongebob exited the Krusty Krab.

“Hey Squidward, I let Mr. Krabs know you weren’t feeling well - Pat and I are gonna walk you ho…” Spongebob trailed off as he properly assessed that situation before him: a still-very-drunk Squidward attempting to enter - and subsequently drive - a motor vehicle.

“Are you trying to _DRIVE, Squidward?!_ ” His eyes bulged from his head as he screeched, and in an instant he wedged himself between Squidward and his boat’s door. “Squidward, you can’t get in that boat! Not after you’ve been-” He looked around so that Mr. Krabs wasn’t within earshot, and his voice became a shrill whisper.

_“-drinking!”_

Squidward tried to make an exasperated noise, but it came out more like a gurgle. He wasn’t as discreet with his drinking as he had thought - then again to Spongebob’s credit, it’d be pretty hard not to smell alcohol on someone who just kissed you full on the mouth.

Or _taste it._

He grimaced at that stray thought and instead occupied himself with trying to separate Spongebob from the door handle. It was no use - his fingers were gripping the sides of the door so hard that the only way Squidward would possibly get in would be to break them. He didn’t know where all of that finger strength came from - all Squidward knew right now was that he didn’t want to have to look at Spongebob’s face for a good, _long_ while.

“Just… get out of here, Spongebob - _please.”_ Spongebob shook his head and torso against Squidward’s body with enough force to knock Squidward’s keys from his tentacle. Squidward watched as they slid under his boat and groaned.

" _No!_ ” Spongebob screamed, startling Squidward. “Squidward, I've taken Mrs. Puff's full boating course at least 200 times by now, and-” he paused to raise a finger and stop any snide comments Squidward could formulate. “-while I haven't passed the actual driving exam, I _do_ know that the first rule of boating is that you _never_ drink and drive!"

Squidward took a step back from the boat - stupid, blubbering Spongebob made him drop his keys. He got on his knees and started groping around under the boat for them, and Spongebob took to pushing him away from the boat with his feet.

“Ow!” Squidward took a shove to the head, which definitely didn’t help how dizzy he was feeling - his blood pressure was all over the place with him getting up and down from the ground so many times.

“Sorry,” said Spongebob, but he didn’t let up with his nudging.

“S...Sponge, I’m fine to drive…” he drawled, focusing his limited brain power on his sense of touch instead of his ability to speak coherently. “I promise… it’s only like… few feet, like a mile? Come on…”

Spongebob was crying now - Neptune, did Squidward hate it when Spongebob cried. Not only was it annoying and awful to listen to, it made him feel… _icky._ Squidward’s stomach did another Olympic-qualifying flip as Spongebob was now holding onto all four of Squidward’s legs, pressing into Squidward’s back.

“You are _not_ fine, Squidward!”

He felt Spongebob shaking with emotion against his body and just wished he could melt through the asphalt. Come to think of it, it was starting to feel pretty comfy now that he was laying down. Maybe he could just sleep here - the world didn’t spin down here. Maybe he wouldn’t puke down here. Better yet, maybe he would just die.

“Please, _please_ don’t drive your boat home tonight! It doesn’t matter how far away your house is - you can barely walk, let alone operate a boat!”

Squidward heard Spongebob sniffle and go eerily quiet, burying his face into Squidward’s new shirt, which was wet with tears and probably stretched. Squidward wondered if he had time to wash it before his shift tomorrow. He also wondered if he would have a shift to show up to tomorrow.

“I just...I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Squidward tried to think of a retort, but was finding it more and more difficult to keep his thoughts clear. He was also finding it harder to stay awake as the seconds passed - his eyelids were getting extremely heavy. He wondered if all of his work naps had conditioned him to feel sleepy in this particular location. Oh well. Hopefully everyone who left the Krusty Klub that night would step over him and not on him - although, given his past experiences in that particular department, he might not be so lucky.

He felt Spongebob shift and get off of him - he could have made a break for it at that point, but he just didn’t have the energy.

“Stay right, here, Squidward,” he heard Spongebob say, pausing to emphasize his words. “I’m going to get Patrick, and then we’ll take you home. I’ll be right back.”

Squidward mustered what control he had over his limbs to continue to search for his keys - he could have sworn he saw them go under the boat, and yet here he was, head on the ground, and he couldn’t see any indication of their existence.

Unless...

That little yellow crook stole his boat keys! He tried to push himself up off the street so he could begin pursuit, but unfortunately his arms were just as useless as his legs now. The only thing Squidward could move was his eyelids, and it wasn’t long before he lost control over them as well, lying prone on the pavement as he dozed off.

* * *

 

“C’mon Pat - help me get him into the boat.”

Squidward heard Spongebob’s voice, which seemed muffled in his semi-conscious state, as he felt himself being roughly lifted by the arms. He could only muster a groan before he was shoved into his own boat, his slumped body position taking up both the left-most seat and the middle one. He was tugged by the left tentacle into sitting upright as the seatbelt was strapped across his body and fastened into place.

Someone was sitting next to him - he could only assume it was Spongebob, since, as far as he knew, he was in the back seat, and Spongebob couldn’t drive.

Which meant Patrick was driving his boat. He knew he couldn’t fight it in his current state, but he did take a moment to silently lament the loss of his seat adjustment settings - those were so hard to get right. Sure enough, Patrick was sliding the seat back to give himself more room.

The ignition turned over and the boat suddenly roared to life - Squidward flinched in his seat and groaned loudly as public-funded jazz radio boomed through the rear speakers directly into his ear. Thankfully, Patrick and his tastelessness saved the day - with a grunt of disapproval, he clicked the radio off and began to pull out of Squidward’s parking spot.

The forward motion of the boat was surprisingly gentle - enough to lull Squidward back to sleep.

* * *

 

Squidward was in his house now - or at least, he could smell a lilac air freshener, and he had set one of those up a few weeks ago. He still couldn’t move - he was slumped onto… something. Something short. Something short and spongy.

“Patrick!” the short, spongy… thing said with a hiss. “Put that down!”

Was Patrick touching his things? He groaned again, as if trying to form words that would prevent such a thing. Patrick was a destructive force that must be stopped at all costs, and if he got anywhere near Squidward’s doily collection...

No discernable words left Squidward's mouth.

“Grab his other arm, Patrick - we have to get him up the stairs, okay?”

Squidward felt himself righted, finally, and hoisted a few inches off of the floor. After a few seconds of clumsy movement, the tips of his tentacles were being dragged over the stairs as they ascended - suddenly, he was placed on something soft. He was on his bed - it felt more comfortable that it ever had in his entire life, especially compared to his more recent resting places: asphalt, faux leather boat upholstery, and a public bathroom floor. The silkiness of his expensive, internet-ordered bedsheets transported him back to unconsciousness as he heard water running in his bathroom.

 

* * *

 

Squidward’s mind faded back into reality to meet the feeling of compression - he was tucked in bed, still unable to move, by his own volition or otherwise. Without opening his eyes, he could still feel another presence in the room with him - light, squeaky footsteps echoed sounded as a glass clinked onto his night stand.

He mustered a groan as pain surged through his head - it seemed like his entire body was going to simultaneously melt into his mattress and implode on itself. There was a soft “shush” that met his ears as something grazed his forehead, leaving as quickly as it had appeared - it was soft, but Squidward felt himself missing its presence (whatever it was.) Before he could force his eyes open, the familiar-sounding footsteps had already descended his staircase, and exhaustion overtook him.

 

* * *

 

Squidward woke, for real this time, to natural light, as well as an acrid, _disgusting_ taste in his mouth. Although his blinds were shut, Squidward screwed his eyes closed in response to the burning sunlight and rolled to face away from the window.

_Ugh - I probably haven’t had that much booze in one sitting since college._

There were a _lot_ of things Squidward hadn’t done since college - he felt blood rush to his cheeks as he quashed emerging memories of what had transpired the night prior.

_Not now, Squidward. Try to focus on anything else._

Despite the headache and foul taste, Squidward actually felt well-rested for someone who had gone on an impromptu bender. His alarm clock read nine thirty-four - a good two hours past his usual Saturday alarm.

Thankfully, Squidward didn’t have any obligations this morning - he just had to scrape himself into something slightly resembling himself by seven thirty for his Krusty Klub shift. He felt a swirl in his gut as he thought about showing his face at work. Right - that was a thing he’d have to do.

On his nightstand, next to his clock, stood a very tall glass of water - thankfully, on a coaster. To either side on him, tucked in as well as he was, were Clary the clarinet - whose mouthpiece and reed were stored on the nightstand - as well as Teddy, his cherished crane-game-won teddy bear. Squidward pulled himself to sit upright, his head still throbbing - grabbing the glass of water, he downed a sizeable swig before he realized that he was wearing his pajamas, and not the shirt he last remembered wearing, which rested on the chair against the opposite wall.

In fact, he was pretty clean for someone who had downed a massive amount of alcohol, thrown up on himself, and passed out on the pavement, in that order.

Which could only mean that he had been changed. By _Spongebob and Patrick_.

And… _cleaned, as well._

He pinched his brow at the thought of them seeing him naked - sure, it had happened before (not that he was ecstatic about it then,) but there was a certain… lack of dignity to this whole situation that made him particularly uncomfortable - especially when he realized how _thorough_ they had been. He hoped that the two of them hadn't used his special “me-time” soap. Or his “fancy night” bath bubbles.

With a swift yank of his comforter, Squidward freed himself of his blanket prison and proceeded sluggishly to the bathroom, wincing with every step as his legs finally got used to doing the job for which they were intended. Inside, he sighed with relief as everything seemed to be where he left it, save for a bath towel that was sitting in the hamper. This alone was excusable.

Dragging himself to the sink, he began to assess the damages. His eyes were still a disaster - the usual bags beneath them had multiplied overnight to the point where he looked like he had lost a fight (and in a weird way, he had.) He sighed and reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste, knowing full well from excursions past that even the most thorough possible scrubbing wouldn't immediately rid his mouth of the taste of vomit (among other things) - but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

After giving his tongue a good scraping, Squidward made a quick pass back through his bedroom to put Clary back on her stand and make the bed. Holding Teddy in one tentacle, he began straightening out his comforter - out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a note on the nightstand, beside where the glass of water had been set. It was written in loopy cursive on the back of a sheet from the “to-do” pad that Squidward had stuck to his refrigerator. Still having to squint in order to see clearly, he read:

_“Dear Squidward,”_

Oh, _Neptune._

_"Patrick and I drove you home from work last night - you were really in rough shape! Don’t worry - I called Mr. Krabs and let him know that you weren’t in any condition to come in tomorrow, and I’m gonna take your spot! Mr. Krabs might have said ‘no’ before, but he changed his mind once I convinced him that people would pay out the nose for a late-night Krabby Patty with their drinks!”_

Squidward exhaled and plopped down onto his bed, relieved - Spongebob had somehow managed to save his skin. Again. The note continued:

_“Just try to take it easy today, okay? I wasn’t sure where you keep your keys, so I put them on the table by your couch._

_“Call me when you feel better!”_

_♥️ Spongebob_

At the sight of the little heart next to Spongebob's name, Squidward crumpled up the note in his hand and tossed it aside. He winced and groaned as his stomach cramped and churned again - Squidward knew at this point that it was empty, so he couldn’t blame the discomfort on his drinking this time. The events of last night rolled into his mind in waves, and Squidward gripped at the bear in his tentacles, gritting his teeth as he struggled to sort any of it out. Squidward let himself fall back against the bed with a sigh, pulling Teddy to his chest.

Spongebob. The drinking.

Spongebob. His mouth.

Spongebob. The kiss.

Spongebob. The drive.

Spongebob.

How could he have been so _stupid?_ It was one thing to drink on the job - while morally reprehensible, Squidward probably could have gotten away with a shot on the down-low, heck, he might have even been _encouraged_ to take one, with Krabs’ obsession with being hip. For Squidward to have had so much though, in so little time, was just plain _dumb_ \- sure, Squidward had his not-so-brilliant moments, but it would have taken something significant to convince him to take that sort of risk, not only to his health, but to his only source of income (at least until his art sales took off.) Squidward was still surprised he had a job to which he could show up on Monday morning, although he knew Mr. Krabs would never let him hear the end of it.

What pressed most on Squidward’s mind wasn’t so much the question of “how,” but _“why?”_

 _Why_ did he need alcohol to deal with Spongebob just _being there?_ Since when did he have to _deal_ with Spongebob, anyway? He dealt with him practically every day without so much as a sip of liquor. What made that night any different from the others?

Unhealthy coping mechanisms aside, _why_ , in that moment of panic, did he decide to kiss Spongebob Squarepants full on the mouth?

 _Why_ did he grab him, pull him close, and kiss him as though his life depended on it?

  ~~ _A_~~ ~~ _nd why did he like it?_~~

Squidward groaned to himself. At this rate, it was becoming near impossible to convince anyone (especially himself) that he hated Spongebob as much as he would often say he did. Sure, Spongebob definitely had the potential to be annoying.

Very annoying.

Extremely annoying.

But it didn’t make him a _bad guy._ Even if Spongebob was always in Squidward’s business, inviting himself into his home, and prancing about with that insipid, cheerful voice.

And that _laugh._

Despite all this - and Squidward was loathe to admit it - Squidward couldn’t imagine his life without Spongebob. Every time he had tried to get away from Conch Street, away from Spongebob’s presence, he would grow incredibly bored and more unhappy than before - there was something about the guy that just drew him back in.

_Neptune, if Spongebob heard me say any of this, he’d never let me live it down._

Spongebob was good. He was optimistic - perhaps naively so, but even when faced with the worst of odds, he kept pushing on. He was incredibly kind and thoughtful - Squidward could name several occasions on which Spongebob had thought of him or his other friends, such as their first Christmas in Bikini Bottom, or when Spongebob and Patrick threw him a surprise birthday party (even if they had gotten the date wrong.)

Spongebob cared about Squidward to the point where he made sure he got home safely when he physically couldn't, and even stuck his neck (or what he had of one) out to save Squidward's job.

 _He cares about everyone,_ he thought, mentally correcting himself. Spongebob's care and affection towards Squidward was _definitely_ not Squidward-specific.

Definitely not.

Squidward exhaled and opened his eyes - he had to call him. It was the least he could do to let Spongebob know that he had survived the night.

Pulling himself out of bed, Squidward went downstairs, gripping the railing harder than usual as he went, Teddy still clutched in his free tentacle. From the landing he could clearly spot his clarinet-shaped keychain right where Spongebob had said he’d left it - through the window, he spotted his boat parked on the street.

_Figures - Patrick probably couldn’t figure out the garage door._

Next to the keys sat Squidward's conch phone - shuffling over to it, Squidward actually felt himself sweating. He inhaled, picking up the receiver - what was he worried about? This wouldn't be _hard_ \- he practically calls Spongebob every day to yell at him for being too noisy, and at this point, he had the number on speed dial to expedite the process.

So why was he staring at the keypad as if the numbers had been replaced with pictures of animals?

_Just rip the bandage, Squidward - the sooner you dial, the sooner you can hang up and move on with your life._

Pressing the number “2,” (“1” was reserved for the police department, as “9-1-1” wasn't fast enough) Squidward tapped a tentacle on the floor as he waited for an answer.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang a third time - finally, there was a click as the connection was made, and a familiar voice rang out with a cheerful “Hello!”

Suddenly put on the spot, Squidward stammered a greeting: “A-ah, yeah, hey, Spo-”

“-You’ve reached the pineapple of Spongebob Squarepants!” There was a “meow” from a distance. “Oh! And Gary the snail, of course! I'm not home to pick up the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can! Have the best day ever!”

Squidward scowled and jammed the tip of his tentacle into the “end call” button, cutting off the chortle that rang from the receiver.

_Of course he's at work - if I'm not there, he has to be._

Reasoning that it would be easier and quicker to speak with Spongebob in real time as opposed to leaving a message, Squidward flipped through his address book for Spongebob's shell phone number - something Squidward _only_ had on his person for _work reasons._

Punching in each digit with an urgency that would make more sense if he was unlocking Mr. Krabs’ safe, he completed the sequence and held the phone to his ear again. It rang - Squidward hadn't realized it at first, but he had been holding his breath.

_Come on, Sponge, pick up, pick up, pick up…_

“Hi!”

This time Squidward wouldn't be fooled - he knew this one was Spongebob's outgoing voicemail message.

“Leave a message and I'll get back to you!”

“Have the best day ever,” Squidward sneered, matching the tone of Spongebob's recorded voice. He hung up the phone and sat on the couch in a swift motion. He ran the numbers in his head - if Spongebob was working his normal shift as well as taking Squidward’s place at the Krusty Klub, he wouldn’t be able to take a call until late that night. He would have to leave a message on Spongebob’s answering machine, which meant he couldn’t improvise - he couldn’t just roll with the conversation and _imply_ gratitude.

He’d have to outright express it.

_Gross._

Squidward inhaled and pressed “2” once more. He listened to pre-recorded Spongebob’s spiel, rolling his eyes and tapping his foot throughout the entirety of the message, before the familiar “beep” signaled his turn to speak.

He froze - what was he supposed to say, again?

Quickly hanging up the call, Squidward took a few minutes to formulate a game plan.

_“It’s Squidward - thanks for taking me home, see you at work.” There. Easy._

He called again - this time, Squidward could only manage a squeak before panicking and ending the message.

Why was this so _difficult?_ It was just _Spongebob._

Just Spongebob, his next-door neighbor.

Just Spongebob, his coworker.

_Just Spongebob, whose face he devoured last night._

Squidward felt his face grow warm as he resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall.He kneaded Teddy in his hands, trying to find anchoring comfort in the curly fabric.

It wasn’t a _kiss._ _I ~~t was definitely a kiss.~~_

He didn’t _mean_ to do it. ~~_He might have meant to do it._~~

How was he going to face Spongebob tomorrow? Or at work on Monday, if he had managed to avoid seeing or hearing from him until then? (Which wouldn’t be likely.)

His stomach squirmed again as his nerves replayed the soft sensation of Spongebob’s face against hi-

- _please, Squidward, literally any other thought would be more helpful right now._

Maybe he was hungry - he had been awake for some time now and hadn’t had a thing to eat, although he felt just as sick as he had last night. This time though, Squidward knew alcohol wasn’t the culprit.

_Maybe it wasn’t the culprit last night, either._

Squidward picked up the phone again.

 

* * *

 

On the 27th take, Squidward finally managed to speed through a “thank you” into Spongebob’s answering machine. He limply slunk onto his couch, pulling a decorative pillow over his eyes and gripping Teddy tightly. It wasn’t very comfortable, but, then again, it was a decorative pillow. Grasping blindly for the television remote, he turned on some mindless drivel in an effort to drown out his own mind.

He didn’t _hate_ Spongebob Squarepants.

He did _not_ like Spongebob Squarepants.

 _Maybe_ he liked Spongebob Squarepants. ~~_Just a little._~~

Monday morning needed to take its sweet time. This weekend might as well have been Squidward’s last.

 


	2. Decaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squidward finds himself with an extra ticket to the Findance Film Festival, and only one person to whom he can turn.

Despite Squidward’s hopes and prayers to have mysteriously and tragically died before the weekend was over, the passage of time went uninterrupted.

The following two weeks were utter torture.

At least, for Squidward, they were torture. For Spongebob, life seemed to carry on as normal. He didn’t even return any of Squidward’s 29 failed phone messages - Squidward wondered if he had even listened to all of them to get to the correct and final one.

Good ol’ message 29. A real winner: “Hey-Spongebob-it’s-Squidward-I’m-okay-thank-you-bye.”

Maybe he had gotten tired of listening to them after about 14 or so failures and got the hint that Squidward wasn’t dead yet.

Work at the Krusty Krab went on as usual - Spongebob was his regular, overly-enthusiastic self. If anyone was behaving strangely since the incident at the Krusty Klub, it was definitely Squidward - he stammered through nearly every order he communicated to Spongebob, eventually having to switch over to writing them down to save time and to spare himself the embarrassment.  During slow periods, Squidward would find himself sneaking glances at his coworker through the pick up window - Spongebob, with no orders to fill, would usually be doing something… unnecessary, like reorganizing the vegetables or counting cheese slices. Spongebob never seemed to notice Squidward’s prying - he was always extremely invested in his work, which was more than Squidward could say for himself.

Every now and again their eyes would meet. Spongebob would catch Squidward looking at him and smile - usually with a “Hi, Squidward,” to which Squidward would flush and sputter off some excuse for spying on him. 

“U-uh, just making sure y-you’re cleaning back here! And you are! So there!”

Sinking down behind his counter, Squidward grew increasingly frustrated. Sure, _Squidward_ didn’t want to discuss what happened that night, but why didn’t _Spongebob?_   Spongebob wanted to talk about everything! It was terrible! It was extremely irritating! 

And Squidward missed it. As much as he didn’t want to talk about how he got plastered on the job and sucked face with Spongebob Squarepants, he _very much wanted to talk about it._  

Another work day came and went, and Squidward was quick to clock out as usual before wordlessly leaving the Krusty Krab and heading home. He had taken to walking these past few weeks in an attempt to expose himself to fresher water, going slowly in order to better take in the scenery, and definitely _not_ in hopes that Spongebob would catch up to him and maybe they could talk. 

Upon arriving at his home-sweet-Moai-head, Squidward spied a moderately-sized package lying on his doormat. Dashing to the door, he inspected the parcel to find an address - he didn’t recall ordering anything recently. Had he had another sleepwalking-slash-sleep-binge-online-shopping stint? The last one had him the lucky recipient of three seasons of _Betrothed in Bikini Bottom_ on DVD, which he didn’t even watch!

However, this particular package was addressed to Squidward from the Bikini Bottom Arts and Culture Enthusiast Bureau. Taking it into the house, he placed the box on his kitchen table and fetched a knife from a drawer before cutting through the packing tape and peeking inside.

_Oh right! I had pre-ordered this months ago! Took its sweet time getting here._

Inside was a promotional package for the annual Findance Film Festival, which was set to tour select films at Bikini Bottom’s Reef Theater. Squidward pulled out a glossy poster, some five-by-seven postcards, a rather cheap-looking lanyard that Squidward knew he wasn’t ever going to wear, a fridge magnet that he promptly slapped on the freezer door, and two tickets to the aforementioned event.

Wait. _Two_ tickets?!

Throwing them back in the box, Squidward dashed up the stairs to his room. He wouldn’t order two tickets to something fancy! Being fancy was _his_ thing!

Squidward booted up his computer and logged into his email account, not even bothering to sit in his desk chair. He searched frantically for the order confirmation from at least four months prior, eyes scanning the screen for any hint that he may have knowingly purchased an extra ticket to the film festival.

There it was - one Findance at Bikini Bottom promo package. Includes: one promotional poster; three postcards to share with friends; one handy, deluxe lanyard; collector fridge magnet; and….

...two tickets to the Findance Film Festival.

Squidward _really_ needed to learn how to read things more carefully.

Running back downstairs, Squidward fished the tickets out of the cardboard box on his table. He read them over - the film festival was set to take place on Saturday.

 _This_ Saturday. Dear Neptune, what day was _today?_

Squidward hustled over to his calendar - he slapped his tentacle to his forehead as he realized that it was Thursday. Squidward had less than 48 hours to find someone to accompany him to the film festival.

Therein laid an obvious problem: Squidward didn’t have friends. He had acquaintances, sure, but he didn’t think any of them would be up for a fancy film festival, and especially not on such short notice. Rummaging through his end table drawer for his address book, he was already weighing his options.

Mr. Krabs? No - he didn’t want to have to interact with Mr. Krabs outside of work.

Sandy? No, she and Squidward didn’t talk enough.

Larry the Lobster? Definitely not his scene.

Plankton? ...maybe? Would that get him fired? Probably. No, then.

He dramatically threw himself onto the couch as the most heinous thought that ever crossed his mind trickled to the front of his consciousness.

_What if he invited Spongebob?_

Squidward rolled over to bury his face in the couch cushions. Did Spongebob _really_ have to worm his way into _every_ facet of his life? This wasn’t even something that Spongebob would be interested in! It wasn’t like they were going to show _Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy V,_ this was going to be about _art!_ There would be subtitles! And monochrome! And possibly…. _nudity!_

Blushing, Squidward quashed the thought of possibly seeing full-frontal with Spongebob within fifteen feet of him with the even more nauseating thought that probably the only reason Spongebob wouldn’t want to give the film festival, besides having other plans, would be that he _didn’t want to go with Squidward._

He didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

How would he even ask?

_“Oh, hey Spongebob - you up for a film festival this weekend?”_

_No, too casual._

_“Hi, Spongebob - I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to go to a film festival with me on Saturday? I know it’s not really your thing, but-”_

_No, Squidward, don’t discount it before he says anything._

Why was he even having this fake conversation with Spongebob anyway? It wasn’t like he actually wanted to go with him.

Maybe he _did_. Maybe Squidward wanted to spend time with Spongebob on his own terms - not at work, not with him bursting into his house, not with him and Patrick fooling around on the street. Maybe if they did something Squidward wanted to do, it wouldn’t be so bad.

And maybe if Squidward kept thinking like this, he’d have to admit himself to an institution.

He would call Spongebob - just to clear his mind. Spongebob would answer, he’d say he wasn’t interested, or he was busy, or some other third thing, and Squidward would just go to the film festival with an extra ticket. It wouldn’t be so bad.

He didn’t bother rehearsing his phone call  - it only complicated things last time. Pulling himself towards the armrest closest to the phone, he grasped for it without looking up.

Squidward pressed “2” and waited. It only rang once before Spongebob picked up.

“Hello? Squarepants residence!” came Spongebob’s voice through the receiver. Caught off-guard, Squidward cleared his throat.

“Ah, hey, Spongebob - it’s, um. It’s Squidward.”

_Excellent start, Squidward! As if Spongebob doesn’t know who you are._

“Oh _hello_ , Squidward!” Squidward had to pull the phone a few inches from his ear to accommodate for Spongebob’s… eagerness. “Nice of you to call! Long time no see, huh?”

Squidward laughed sheepishly at the attempt at a joke before going quiet. This was already proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

_Come on, Squidward! Out with it!_

“Um, okay. So, the reason that I’m calling,” he started. He fidgeted with the tickets in his other tentacle. “I was wondering, if… maybe you wanted to, um.”

_Um?_

“...I, uh, got an extra ticket to the Findance Film Festival, and wanted to know if, like… maybe you wanted to go with me this Saturday.”

“A film festival? On Saturday?” Squidward frowned, kicking his legs against the upholsetery.

“Yeah, uh, I know it’s short notice - I only just got the tickets, and I didn’t realize I had ordered two.”

There was another long pause that made Squidward want to just march next door and give Spongebob the ticket himself.

“Listen," he began, "I know this probably isn’t something you’d be interested in - it’s all right if you don’t want to go-”

“-Sorry, Squidward! I was just checking my calendar!”

Squidward was going to kill him. He would become a murderer and he would go to prison. Maybe he’d end up on TV.

“Don’t just go quiet like that! I was talking to _no one!_ ”

Spongebob laughed as if Squidward was an A-list comedian. Of course he would. Squidward’s short reserves of patience were running out.

“So are you going or not?” he snapped, immediately kicking himself for being curt.  _Remember, Squidward, we're trying to be friendly._

“Of course, silly! I'd love to go!”

 _Fishpaste. He actually went for it._ Suddenly very sweaty, Squidward bolted upright in his seat. “Really?”

“Yeah! I love movies!” Spongebob’s voice seemed to take a calmer turn - a mid-range voice that made somehow Squidward's throat scratchy. “And we never really _hang out_ , ya know?”

Squidward coughed. “Um, yeah. I guess we don’t.”

“So is there anything I should know about this shindig? Anything I gotta wear?”

“Clothes, preferably,” was the first thing out of Squidward’s mouth, which earned him an earnest laugh from Spongebob. Squidward found himself chuckling a little bit to himself as well at the unintentional joke.

“Uh, well, this is less of a ‘movie night’ and more of an ‘art show,’ if you get my drift. It’s _artsy._ So… just try to look nice? I guess?” Squidward gritted his teeth at how long this conversation seemed to be taking. Laying on the couch, he probably looked like a ‘50s-esque babysitter gabbing on the phone. All he needed was a phone cord to twirl around his tentacle.

“You got it, Squidward! And that’s this Saturday, right? After work?”

“Yeah. After work - I guess I’ll pick you up with my boat? We can drive since it’ll be dark after.”

“Sounds good to me! As long as you’re driving!” He laughed again. Squidward was getting uncomfortably warm as he remembered the _last_ time he tried to drive around Spongebob.

“Um. Yes. I will be driving. Of course.”  _Bring it home, Squidward. Before tomorrow, please._ “Seven-o’-clock sound good?”

“Yep! It’s a date!” Without thinking, Squidward ended the call.

 _A date?!_ Did he just set up a date with Spongebob Squarepants?

And then hang up on him?

He called back, hoping that Spongebob hadn’t spontaneously decided to never speak to him again. 

“Hello?”

“Sorry!” Squidward blurted into the telephone, screwing his eyes shut. He had to pull himself together. “I uh...dropped the phone.”

Spongebob’s dolphin chirp of a giggle rang out from the receiver. “Oh, it’s okay, Squidward! We’re all clumsy sometimes!”  Squidward wondered if phone calls had the potential to be lethal, because the anxiety this one was causing was bound to kill him.

“Um, yeah. Well. See you at work, I guess.”

“See you, Squidward! Good night...!” He could practically hear Spongebob waving his individual fingers at him through the telephone.

“Yeah, good night.” Squidward hung up the phone and blindly slapped it down on the table.

He placed the tickets on his coffee table and curled into a ball, sighing. He had a date with Spongebob Squarepants.

And Spongebob didn’t even _know_ it was a date. So then...it wasn’t a date! At least, not a _date_ date. A calendar date!

It was essentially a date - they were going to dress up nice and go to a movie. They were going to share a ride. They were going to sit together. Many date ingredients were present in this recipe.

But it _wasn’t_ a date.

 

* * *

 

Before Squidward knew it, Saturday morning had arrived. Luckily, Mr. Krabs had decided to only run the Krusty Klub on random weekends throughout the year in order to make it seem more "exclusive," so he and Spongebob only had the day shift to suffer through.

Funnily enough though, neither of them seemed to suffer. Spongebob was as chipper as always, but there was a certain pep in his step that would suggest that he was excited about his night-time plans. Even Squidward felt himself keeping a passive smile on his face rather than his usual resting frown, going so far as to be somewhat  _pleasant_ with customers. 

Once the time came for both of them to clock out, Squidward hurried home. He darted upstairs to his bedroom and began to peruse through his closet for something that said “I came prepared for this fancy outing,” but not “I’m extremely desperate to impress people.”

He settled on an old favorite - his olive green turtleneck. He laid it out on the bedspread before jumping into the shower to wash the stench and general vibe of the Krusty Krab off of his body. Maybe he would use one of his new soaps today - it _was_  a special occasion, after all.

Getting all sudsy with a chamomile and lavender number he had plucked from the medicine cabinet, Squidward made sure to get nice and clean. He was going to have a good night. Even if Spongebob was going to be there.

No - he was going to have a good night _and_  Spongebob would be there.

He was going to have a good night _with_ Spongebob.

At last, Squidward was sufficiently cleansed - he stepped out and gently toweled himself dry before returning to his bedroom and pulling his turtleneck over his head.  

There was a knock at the door -rather, _several_ knocks. Squidward glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table - it was already six forty-five. He didn’t have time for an intrusion - he had ~~Spongebob~~ people to impress!

Stomping down the stairs, he marched up to the front door and whipped it open.

Spongebob stood before him, his hand raised, still curled into a fist from knocking.

“S-Spongebob?!” spat Squidward, brow furrowed. “I said I was going to pick you up at seven!”

Spongebob was, as much as Squidward was expecting otherwise, decently dressed. Clad in a navy blue cardigan, corduroy slacks, and brown loafers, Spongebob actually looked… _good._ The sweater complimented his blue eyes really nicely and, well, it was interesting to see Spongebob in pants that didn’t show off his gym socks. In fact, Squidward could just barely see that he was actually wearing red dress socks. The guy _did_ know how to dress!

Squidward must have been staring for longer than he thought, because Spongebob’s voice snapped him out of whatever stupor he was in.

“Hey Squidward!” Spongebob said with a smile. “ _Nice_ sweater!”

“Um, thanks.” Squidward swallowed, unable to stop the word vomit that followed from escaping him. “Looks like you, um... put a nice outfit together, too.”

 _Neptune, could you sound_ **_any_ ** _more desperate, Squidward?_

“Oh, well, thanks!” Spongebob averted his gaze and kind of shrank in on himself, almost as if he was shy - Squidward seemed to have caught him off-guard with a genuine compliment. “Sorry I’m early - I was just so _excited!_ Plus, I thought it’d save you some trouble if I met you here instead of having you wait for me in front of the pineapple.”

Squidward frowned and sighed. “You live next _door,_ Spongebob,” he said, trying to come off as if Spongebob’s sudden appearance was more of a mild inconvenience than a complete, horrifying surprise. Squidward backed away from his door and led Spongebob in with a tentacle. “I’m still getting ready, so… come in and sit down, I guess. I should only be a minute or two - try not to break anything.”

Spongebob stepped inside, kicking his shoes off at the door, (as was the rule in Squidward’s house,) and sat on the couch with gingerly folded hands. Squidward trudged back up the stairs and gave himself a final once-over at the bathroom mirror.

He had picked a good sweater, definitely - the deep color complimented his complexion and the turtleneck made him look a little taller than he already was. His face looked clear of any sort of blemishes - not that he was really equipped to take care of any in ten minutes. He had already shaved this morning, so…

...he should be good!

As he was heading out of the bathroom, though,  he saw it - a bottle of his expensive, lavender and sandalwood cologne on the counter. He ground his teeth and gnawed at his tentacle as he considered putting some on. It wasn’t a date - he didn’t need cologne for just going to a movie.

But he was going to _Findance,_ not just some movie. It wasn’t cologne for Spongebob, it was cologne for _him_.

Grabbing the glass bottle, he tentatively sprayed a puff of the cologne in the air. After waiting a beat for the spray to descend he walked through it and out of the bathroom before jogging back downstairs.

“All right, Spongebob, let’s get going,” he called out, grabbing the tickets from underneath a magnet on the fridge. “Put your shoes on and wait outside - I’ll just pull the boat around.”

Spongebob hopped up off of the couch and scurried over to the front door - after slipping on his loafers, he went to stand outside. Squidward closed the door behind Spongebob and locked it - an all-too-familiar feeling - and went to fetch his boat from the garage.

After sliding into the driver’s seat, Squidward eyed himself in the rearview mirror - he took a deep breath. He was going to be fine. He was going to have fun.

With Spongebob.

Ignoring the sudden tightness of his turtleneck, Squidward pulled the boat out of the garage and closed the door before coasting around to the front of his house. Spongebob stood there, as instructed. He smiled and waved to Squidward from his doormat. Squidward pulled up to his walkway, unlocking the passenger side door - Spongebob climbed in and buckled his seatbelt, wiggling in his seat as if to get comfortable.

Squidward drove. For the first few minutes, the two were silent - Squidward sweated in his seat as the usually loquacious Spongebob didn’t make a peep, instead sitting still with a contented smile on his face.  Without taking his eyes off the road, Squidward tried to cut through the palpable awkwardness.

“Do you want to listen to music or something? You can work the radio since I’m driving.”

“Sure!” said Spongebob, with his usual enthusiasm -  he leaned forward and stretched his arm out to twist the knob to the ‘on’ position. It was pre-tuned to Squidward’s favorite jazz station -  the lilting harmonies of a bluesy clarinet duet made their way through the cabin. When Spongebob didn’t seem to react to it in any way, Squidward gripped the steering wheel just a little more tightly, sensing that this sort of music wasn’t interesting to him.

“Um, you can change it if you want - I know jazz is kind of stuffy.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, Squidward!” Spongebob looked up at him with a big, toothy grin. “I like it! I was just listening - it’s really pretty.”

_Huh. He likes jazz._

That actually made a lot of sense given Spongebob’s personality: unpredictable; improvised.

The current song ended as Squidward hung a sharp left. It wouldn’t be long now before they were at the theater. Suddenly, the brassy sound of a big band tune blared through the speakers - it was a studio recording of Big Barry Blowfish’s newest piece. Squidward had only heard it once or twice since it was released, but he thought it was pretty solid. Big Barry crooned away on his trumpet, improvising passages that suited their accompaniment so well, you would have thought they were written on the sheet music. Spongebob seemed entranced by it, tapping his fingers on his knees and bobbing up and down a bit in his seat.

Squidward felt a smile of his own creep across his face.

“You know,” he said, his voice more confident now than before. “Big Barry used to play for the Bikini Bottom Philharmonic, before he got famous.”

Spongebob whipped around to face him, his lips parted slightly in shock. “He did?”

“Yeah, he comes back every now and then when he’s on tour. I’ve seen him a few times.” Were he not driving, Squidward might have closed his eyes and preened, placing a tentacle on his chest. For now he stuck to keeping his eyes on the road.

“Really?” Spongebob gasped, his eyes sparkling faintly with awe. “How is he live?”

Squidward pulled up to a stop light. “Better than he is on the radio.” He stretched, pushing off the steering wheel to pop one of his shoulders. “One of the finer things about jazz is that you don’t see the same show twice, even if they play the same pieces.”

Spongebob’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

The light turned green, and Squidward slowly accelerated. “It’s improv - those solos he has? That’s all made up on the spot.” He waved his right tentacle around in the air. “He does it differently each time he plays. But on the radio, it’s always the same.”

Spongebob returned to facing forward. He smiled again as Barry’s band faded into the next selection. “Cool - so he just, makes it up?” He imitated Squidward’s previous gesture with his own hand.

“Yep. Every time.” Squidward slowed the boat, flipping on his turn signal. He veered to the right, into the theater’s parking lot - he had to make a few go-arounds to find a spot.

“You seem like a trumpet kind of guy,” he said to himself, absentmindedly.

* * *

 

The two of them entered the theater to see a pretty decent turnout, considering that they were in _Bikini Bottom_ , after all - Squidward supposed that if they had a philharmonic, they must had enough people to scrape together to be interested in film. He glanced at his watch - they had about twenty minutes until the feature started.

“Okay, Spongebob,” said Squidward. He turned to face Spongebob, who was turning in place, eyeing up the various movie posters as well as the concession stand. “Since we had work today, we ended up missing a few of the films. Luckily, we should still have time for the last film of the night.”

Spongebob peeked at a list of movies that he was given at the entrance.

“Hmm - oh, here it is!” He pointed to the last entry on the list. “It’s called _Shellfish in the City_. ‘Drik Knifejaw’s heartwarming tale of a clam on a soul search in unfamiliar territory.’”

“Knifejaw, huh?” mused Squidward. “He’s all right.” Suddenly, the crowd in the theater lobby started to gravitate towards one of the auditoriums. “Guess we should find seats…”

Spongebob ushered Squidward along with a gesture of his hand. “You go get the seats - I’ll get us some popcorn! It’s the least I could do since you got the tickets.”

_Huh - well, at least I can’t say I skipped dinner today._

“Sure - okay. I’ll see you inside.” Squidward hesitated a bit before joining the crowd - he was quickly consumed by the tumult, being swept along into the theater. He called over his shoulder: “And go easy on the butter! It makes my tentacles all nasty and greasy!”

_Ew. Too much information, Squidward._

“You got it!” he heard Spongebob shout back, nearly drowned out by the bustle of the theater-goers. Squidward slunk between the individuals as they pushed through the auditorium doors, motoring ahead to find a good pair of seats.

Easily spotting two seats squarely in the middle of the room, Squidward made a mad dash, squeezing through the gaps left by the larger fish as they found their own respective seats. As an octopus, Squidward had no real problem getting through the tight spaces, and plopped himself down in a particularly choice location - he guarded the seat to his right, informing those who tried to take the seat that it was taken - a feeling that gave him a weird sense of _pride._

 _“Oh no - this seat? It’s_ **_taken._** _"_

Squidward still couldn’t believe any of this was actually happening - here he was, at _Findance,_ even if it was just a tour, and he was here with _Spongebob Squarepants._ And he was weirdly _stoked_ about it. Spongebob was the last person Squidward expected to do anything remotely cultured with - before tonight, the thought of Spongebob attending a philharmonic concert, or an art gallery, or even an art _store_ was laughable. And now… well, Squidward didn’t know.

Squidward spotted Spongebob’s easily-identified form slowly entering the auditorium - he carried a bucket of what looked to be two days’ worth of popcorn with both hands. Spongebob peered over the peak of the popcorn, looking every which way for Squidward. Squidward waved him down with a tentacle, trying not to be too conspicuous.

Spongebob rotated in place, still looking to and fro - he obviously couldn’t see Squidward, especially with that giant tub of popcorn in his hands.

Squidward huffed - he stood this time, flagging his location by moving his arms back and forth in the air. Still no luck - now Spongebob was facing the wrong direction, checking the front rows instead of the middle. Squidward rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“For the love of-” Squidward bit his lip and stifled himself, before calling down to the front of the auditorium. “ _Spongebob,_ I’m over _here!”_

The bucket of popcorn with legs in the front row jumped with a short squeak before two blue eyes popped over the edge. Spongebob waved, which was Squidward’s cue to sit down and look on as Spongebob’s shape only lent to his awkwardness in shuffling over to their seats. Lots of small “excuse me!”-s could be heard as Spongebob made his way to the middle row and squeezed himself in front of several already-seated audience members. Squidward looked on, expression flat and eyes half-lidded, and pulled his legs up as Spongebob scooted past him and finally got into his seat.

“All right,” said Spongebob, moving back to sit flush with his chair. “All settled!”

“Great,” sighed Squidward.

Spongebob faced him and opened his mouth as if to say something, but the lights had started to dim, signalling the start of the film. Spongebob quickly clammed up and simply held up the popcorn bucket to offer some to Squidward.

Squidward hadn’t noticed the offer - he been staring at Spongebob’s face again; at how the soft, bluish light of the screen cast shadows over the surface of his skin. He had only snapped out of his little trance when Spongebob lightly shook the popcorn in his face. Feeling sweat form on his forehead, he took a small handful and curled into himself in his seat, drawing his knees to his chest. He focused his attention on picking out each individual piece from his tentacle. Luckily, Spongebob probably couldn’t see him blushing in the dark.

The opening credits began to roll, the score swelling, as peaceful country landscapes were displayed in sequence on the screen. A vibrant sunrise painted a a dusty gorge with a myriad of pinks, purples, and reds.  Lush, green fields stretched as far as the eye could see as scallops swam overhead, specks against the blue of the surrounding water.

_At least the cinematography looks all right so far._

“Psst! Squidward!” Spongebob whispered, nudging Squidward with his elbow.

“ _What?”_ hissed Squidward, looking on at the film. Of course, Spongebob _would_ be a movie talker _._

“Do you wanna hold the popcorn? I can’t really see over it.”  Squidward glanced over to where Spongebob was sitting.

The bucket was almost as big as Spongebob’s body.

“Oh. Sure,” Squidward said, keeping his voice low, and he reached over to take the tub from Spongebob’s lap. He held it squarely between his knees as Spongebob stretched, finally free.

With a small “thanks,” Spongebob’s attention turned to the screen.

And Squidward’s attention turned to Spongebob.

At first, Squidward was able to follow the film - a wayward, innocent clam, through a somewhat predictable series of mishaps, wound up in the big, scary city. The movie seemed a little out of place for a film festival, but maybe it would get deeper as it went on. For now, Squidward could at least enjoy the musical score and the visuals. Knifejaw was certainly going for scenery eye-candy with this one.

Every so often, Spongebob’s skinny, cardigan-clad arm would reach over to gingerly pluck a handful of popcorn from the tub. Initially, Squidward barely noticed the small intrusions, staring straight ahead.

At some point, though - Squidward guessed perhaps fifteen minutes in - their hands touched.

Squidward had, absentmindedly, reached down for some popcorn while Spongebob’s hand was already in the tub - Spongebob brushed his tentacle and, on reflex, Squidward pulled back as if he had touched a live electrical wire. Squidward’s heart hammered in his chest, but Spongebob seemed not to notice, his arm slowly retreating back to whence it came. Squidward’s eyes followed it back, pushing his back flush with the seat  and sharply inhaling through his nose as his emotions swirled in his gut - emotions that Squidward hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

_It was nothing, Squidward. It was an accident!_

But still, Squidward already felt so different after a little touch - was he really _that_ deprived of physical contact? He wasn’t even sure how he felt, whether it was good or bad, but there was a quality to the buzz the wracked his brain that made him want _more._

Spongebob stretched in his seat, folding one of his legs over the other. Squidward shrank back, wondering if Spongebob was somehow capable of telepathy as Spongebob laid his left arm on their shared arm rest. His eyes were now glued to Spongebob’s tiny, yellow hand.

 _Neptune._ It was right _there._ He could just… _take_ it. He could just _hold_ Spongebob’s _hand_ like it was no big deal.

Was he offering?

Why would he even _want_ to? This wasn’t a date!

Already Squidward’s right tentacle prickled with the ghost sensation of Spongebob’s skin against his, desperate for more - he rubbed at it with his left to quash it out. This was so _stupid!_ He didn’t want to hold Spongebob’s hand.

He settled back into his seat and directed his eyes back towards the film - now the titular clam was, at last,  in the titular city. Establishing shots depicted the city’s wide gamut of locales: dangerous alleyways; towering, unfriendly buildings; and quaint plazas littered with little cafes and curio shops.

Maybe Squidward would take a trip to the city one day - bus fare wasn’t that expensive. He’d see a musical or something. Perhaps he would get some overpriced coffee and say it’s better than regular coffee just to justify spending so much on it.

What if Spongebob _didn’t_ want Squidward to hold his hand?

_Why was that the worst thing he could possibly imagine?_

Squidward gripped the edges of the popcorn bucket with both tentacles. His legs tightened around it and quivered slightly as he eyed Spongebob’s hand like it was a scrap of chum and Squidward was a starving animal. Glancing up at Spongebob’s face, Squidward saw that he was totally invested in the film before them, the matte surface of his skin softly reflecting various vibrant colors as they bounced off of the screen. Squidward found himself almost hypnotized by the way the shifting colors accentuated Spongebob’s features. Red, then white, then blue, then-

_Just focus, Squidward! This isn’t what you came here for - the movie is what you’re here for!_

But despite all of Squidward’s efforts to just _stare forward_ , his eyes still travelled to Spongebob’s hand. It was so small, and dainty, and perfect for holding, and _right there in front of him._ How _wasn’t_ he supposed to take Spongebob’s hand in his tentacle, kneading the individual knuckles with his suction cups, stroking his thumb the whole while?

Squidward felt like he was going to pass out. It had been so long since he had had any sort of meaningful physical contact with someone, and he thought it wouldn’t affect him anymore after over a decade. Not to mention Spongebob was literally _always_ touching him and violating his personal space at work! He hated it!

And yet, here he was, almost yearning for a shot at holding his coworker’s hand.

He heard a sound and looked up to see that Spongebob was sniffling - his eyes glistened with newly-formed tears.

He was… crying? Squidward got that familiar _Spongebob-is-crying-and-it’s-gross_ feeling, and his gaze darted to the screen for answers.

_Oh._

The clam was dead. There it lay, in the gutter of the alley, deceased and presented in gray-scale,  as the screen faded to black and the end credits began to crawl up the screen.

Had he missed the _entire movie_? For just how long was he staring at Spongebob’s freaking hand!? Oh, how Squidward wished he was that clam - he needed the credits to roll on his life.

The lights came up throughout the auditorium - Spongebob was wiping his eyes with his sleeve as he moved to stand up. Squidward, relaxing his legs, followed suit. He peered into the bucket - between the two of them, they had managed to eat almost all of it, but the nauseous feeling Squidward was fighting told him it probably wasn’t an equal effort. He had always been a nervous snacker.

“So?” he heard Spongebob ask as they shuffled out of the theater. “What did you think?”

 _Barnacles,_ what _did_ he think? He barely saw any of the movie! Squidward tossed the popcorn tub into the trash bin while he struggled to compose an answer.

“I, uh,” he started, holding the auditorium door open for Spongebob to exit, for which he received a small and chipper “thanks!” “The cinematography was pretty good. Good use of color.” Squidward smiled sheepishly, hoping to _Neptune above_ that this was Spongebob’s only content-related question.

Spongebob chattered away about his favorite and least favorite parts of the film as the two of them strode through the lobby and out into the parking lot - Squidward answered any questions that he could with as many context clues as he could glean. Once they were outside, Squidward used his keyfob to flash his headlights. The boat’s lights pulsed with a high-pitched chirp.

“Yeah, I thought the movie was nice to look at,” said Spongebob, climbing into the passenger seat. “I don’t know if I’d rent it though - I don’t feel like a lot _happened,_ you know?”

Squidward could agree to that - the movie must have been a dud if he preferred to look at Spongebob’s hand instead of watch it. At least, that’s what he’d tell himself.

“Yeah, well - they can’t all be winners, I guess.” Squidward turned over the ignition and looked over his shoulder before backing out of his parking space. Still looking backward, he continued: “These kind of festivals are more like an opportunity to show off what you made - kind of like walking through an art gallery.”

As Squidward turned onto the main thoroughfare, Spongebob turned the radio back on. A soft, slow number floated through the cabin as the glow of street lamps illuminated their faces every few seconds.

“You sure know a lot about this stuff, Squidward.” said Spongebob. He was quiet and calm, but not in a way that was uncharacteristic - Spongebob still sounded pleasant. It was kind of nice, Squidward mused. “I mean, not that I’m surprised, of course.”

Squidward blushed at the compliment. “Oh, well, I mean,” he preened, scratching the back of his neck with his left tentacle. “I just read a lot - I like to follow art in all of its forms; film, painting, music, whatever.”

Their conversation was punctuated by the uptempo bop of a swing band - a trumpet rang out over the band, seizing its moment in the spotlight.

“Hey,” said Squidward. “It’s your buddy, Big Barry.”

“Oh hey!” Spongebob smiled - he snapped his fingers to the beat. “Looks like you’ve made me a convert, Squidward - I can’t get enough of this guy!”

Squidward laughed to himself - he checked his left side before turning right at a red light. “I’ve got some of his records if you want to borrow them - unless you don’t have a player.”

“Really?” Spongebob squeaked. He looked like he might explode with excitement. Squidward could practically feel it emanating off of Spongebob, and actually felt himself cracking a wide smile. This boat ride - rather, this whole _night_ was so surreal - they were actually _bonding_ . Over _Squidward’s interests._

Had he managed to have a good night with Spongebob Squarepants?

At long last, Squidward turned his boat onto Conch Street. He parked in front of his cobblestone walkway and let the engine idle for a bit - he almost didn’t want to get out of the boat. He turned to Spongebob.

“Hey, so, um.” Spongebob looked at him with his usual smile, which only made Squidward nervous. Why was he suddenly nervous? “Did you uh, want those albums?”

Spongebob beamed at him. “Sure, Squidward! I’d love to hear more Barry Blowfish!”

Squidward froze as his mind suddenly blanked - where _were_ those albums, anyway? Spongebob would have to wait while he found them. Which meant he’d have to come in the house again.

Squidward didn’t know how he felt about that.

“Uh, so, I guess you can come inside then? Do you want some coffee or anything while you wait?” Squidward shut off the engine and opened his door. Spongebob exited the boat as well before answering.

“That sounds great - but could I ask for some decaf if you’ve got it? I really shouldn’t have caffeine this late at night.” Spongebob laughed, and it echoed off of their respective houses in the quiet of the night.

How late _was_ it? Squidward looked at his watch - it was ten thirty. Not too late, but even the mental image of a caffeinated Spongebob bouncing off the walls while he was trying to sleep gave Squidward a minor headache.

“I’ll see what I’ve got.”

Squidward unlocked his front door and Spongebob followed him in, kicking off his shoes for a second time. Moving to the kitchen, Squidward began to rummage through the cabinets - medium roast, no. Dark roast - no. Espresso - _no._ Here it was, decaf - it was a coarse grind. Squidward got his French press out from under the counter.

“Make yourself comfortable, if you want,” Squidward called, not looking up from his work. “It’ll be a while, so...”

He filled his electric kettle with enough water so they could both have coffee - Squidward figured he didn’t need to stay up tonight, either, so he’d settle for decaf, as well. Spongebob sat on Squidward’s couch, twiddling his thumbs as Squidward scooped a few heaps of the coffee into his press - he preferred his coffee strong, especially if it wasn’t going to have caffeine.

Squidward leaned on two tentacles as he waited for the water to boil, one arm on his hip. He looked over at Spongebob, who was leafing through a book on musical theatre set design that Squidward kept on his coffee table. He seemed to like the gaudier stuff - bright colors and set pieces made of ordinary household items. _Figures._

“Do you take cream and sugar?” Squidward asked, almost hesitant to interrupt Spongebob’s reading. Seeing him so interested in something was… sort of cute. And Squidward wasn’t loathe to think it this time.

Spongebob jumped in his seat before turning around to face him. “Both please!”

_That figures, too._

As Squidward got out his sugar bowl and a carton of half-and-half, steam erupted from his electric kettle with a loud whistle. Inadvertently slamming the dishes on the table in his haste, Squidward dashed over to the kettle to turn it off before carefully pouring the water over the coffee grounds.

He set a nearby egg timer for four minutes.

“You know how to work one of these?” Squidward asked, across the living room.

Spongebob closed the coffee table book and zipped over, red socks boldly contrasting against Squidward’s kitchen floor, to inspect the French press. He eyed the coffee grounds swirling around in the water.

“No,” he said, still peering through the murky water. “I only have a drip machine.”

Squidward held up the egg timer. “Okay - I have to go upstairs and find my albums. When this timer goes off, I want you to just push this plunger down. See it? On the top?"

Spongebob backed away from the press and pointed at the plunger. “This?”

“Yeah. Push it down after four minutes - and push it slowly. Don’t just like,” Squidward paused to slap his kitchen counter with mock force. “Get it?”

Spongebob gave Squidward a thumbs-up and went to sit at the kitchen table. Squidward went upstairs - he was getting hot again. The sooner he could get out of this turtleneck, the better. Why did Spongebob have to be so _adorable?_ It should have been illegal.

He dug through his closet until he found his record box. Luckily, he had alphabetized them, so finding _Big Barry Blowfish_ would be relatively easy. Now, had he had them under “Big?”

Or, maybe “Barry?”

“Blowfish?”

Leafing through the records, Squidward also found himself stopping at a few he thought Spongebob might particularly like - mainly trumpetists.

_Maybe I could get him into clarinetists, too._

Squidward felt a sudden urge to slap himself, but he refrained. Separating his selections from his collection, he returned the box to its hiding place and hurried down the stairs. As he descended, he heard the egg timer ring, as well as Spongebob’s chair scoot across the floor. From the landing, he could see Spongebob pressing down on the plunger, slowly, with an almost _darling_ amount of determination on his face, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth.

_Squidward, you need bed rest._

Spongebob had pushed the plunger all the way to the bottom before he had made eye contact with Squidward. Squidward cleared his throat to make it less obvious that he was staring.

“I, uh, found the records! They’re kind of dusty - sorry about that.” He coughed some more to really sell the point.

“And I made the coffee!” He proudly pressed his thumb to his chest. “At least, I think I did.” Spongebob eyed the pitcher of coffee with a worried look.

Squidward slipped the records into a reusable shopping bag so as not to get dust on anything in the kitchen. Feeling a burst of confidence from his selection process, he sauntered over to the counter and picked up the press.

“Well, we’ll have to see, now won’t we?” he said, smirking. Grabbing two mugs -  one with a clarinet concerto printed on its walls, and the other shaped like a rubber duck - Squidward slowly poured the finished coffee into each of them. He left plenty of room in the rubber duck mug for Spongebob’s _accoutrements_ before taking a dramatically cautious sip from his own mug.

“Well?” asked Spongebob, eager for any sort of feedback. He fidgeted with his hands, his eyes wide as Squidward looked at him. After a few seconds of comically exaggerated lip-smacking and judgemental noises, Squidward raised a thumb to him.

“Congratulations, Mr. Squarepants,” he said. “It’s coffee.”

Spongebob beamed before grabbing his cup and settling down at the kitchen table - Squidward followed suit, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite his neighbor. He folded his two right-most tentacles over the others and enjoyed a rare moment of silence between the two of them (one that occurred mainly because both of their mouths were occupied.)

Taking a large swig of his sweetened coffee, Spongebob smiled as he swallowed. His buck teeth poked out over his bottom lip - something Squidward found to be surprisingly quaint.

Spongebob was kind of like a weird tchotchke you found at a donation center - there were many things that, when looked at individually, one might consider negative qualities: his laugh; his buck teeth; his sense of style. As a whole though, they all balanced out into a charming… thing that you buy for $7.99 and keep on a shelf as a conversation piece. That’s what Spongebob was. A charming thing.

“This is really good coffee, Squidward,” said Spongebob, before taking another sip. “I’ll have to look into getting one of those press thingies.”

“Makes all the difference,” Squidward hummed into his mug. “I got mine at Bargain Mart - they’re not that pricey. Just make sure to get your coffee ground coarse or it’ll go through the mesh.”

Things had grown quiet again - Spongebob seemed to have drunk all of his coffee and yet he was still holding and fidgeting with his mug, his brows upturned with what seemed like worry. Squidward didn’t like the contemplative look on his face - if anything, Squidward would’ve have guessed he was about to-

“Hey, Squidward?” Spongebob looked up from his cup with a slight frown. His voice was quiet; earnest. It lacked his usual confidence. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Um, s-sure,” Squidward stammered, setting down his mug. He was out of coffee, too - he chose to focus on that instead of looking at Spongebob directly.

“It’s, uh. It’s about the other night. At the Krusty Klub.”

_And there it is. You have your obituary written, right Squidward?_

“Um. Right.” Squidward said, his voice breaking. Clearing his throat, he looked up to meet Spongebob’s eyes, but he was finding it extremely difficult to maintain eye contact. “About that - I’m really sorry I-”

“-are you _mad_ at me, Squidward?”

Squidward went quiet. Where was this coming from? What indication would he have given to that point, besides his usual irritation with Spongebob’s antics?

“...what?”

Spongebob put his mug down and set his palms on the table. He looked Squidward dead in the eye, his bottom lip quivering. “Did I do something to make you upset with me?”

“No…” That was all Squidward could say - this was taking a weird turn and he was completely confused.“I don’t…”

Spongebob’s eyes were wet again - he was trying not to cry and failing, gritting his teeth and balling his hands against the table. Squidward felt a slurry of pre-chewed popcorn trying to escape his body at the sight of Spongebob losing his composure.

“You’re just…. You’re really confusing me!”

“Huh?”

Spongebob was standing on his chair now - he was starting to hyperventilate, his pores expanding and contracting as he sputtered. His arms shook violently, along with the rest of his body.

“I mean, one minute, you’re staring at me, and the next, you’re getting drunk just to be _around_ me! And then you _kiss me!_ I don’t know what to _think!_ ” Spongebob’s voice rose to a shrill pitch as he ranted.

“Spongebob,” Squidward started, beginning to sweat. He hadn’t realized he had caused Spongebob so much distress, and now he didn’t know how to make it any better.  “I’m sorry about-”

“And _now_ you’re been acting all weird at work! And then you ask me to this fancy film festival? Out of the blue?”

“Sponge-”

“-And we have a _good time!_ And I tried to get you to hold my hand, and you _don’t!_ ”

“Wait, you _wanted_ me to hold your hand?” Squidward asked, more to himself than to Spongebob. _That’s validating, I guess._

Spongebob went quiet, his head tilting. His breathing slowed and he sat back down in his chair. Blush began to dust his cheeks and he went back to fidgeting with his cup. “I mean… yeah. You couldn’t tell? I mean, since you kissed me, I thought that maybe…”

Squidward set his cup down and pushed his chair back so he could stand. He walked over to Spongebob, who now had streaks on his face from fallen tears. He couldn't stand seeing Spongebob like this - he didn't know what to do, but he wanted to make it stop.

“...maybe you _knew_ I liked you. Maybe you liked me too, is all.”

Squidward’s stomach churned at the statement, and at Spongebob’s flushed face - maybe he shouldn’t eat popcorn anymore. Or maybe he should be honest. Based on what Spongebob had just said, he really had nothing to be afraid of - heck, he practically had a free pass to explain just how he felt, because _Spongebob had feelings for him._

But it had been so long - almost fifteen years since he had been in a real relationship, and if his and Spongebob’s previous interactions were any indication, Squidward couldn’t be entirely sure they were a great match.

And yet, there was _tonight_ . And there was the Krusty Klub, and the note on his nightstand, and Big Barry Blowfish, and wayward clams, and decaffeinated coffee, red, white, blue, and tens of hundreds of things from years prior that Squidward had so easily discounted because as far as he was concerned, he did _not_ like Spongebob Squarepants, nor would he find himself close to _anyone_ ever again.

Not sure of what else to do, he could only hold out his arms - Spongebob darted into him and squeezed, blubbering into Squidward’s sweater. Squidward couldn’t keep himself from making a noise of discomfort - he had never really been a _hugger_ , per se, but he knew someone who needed a hug when he saw them. As Spongebob hugged him, Squidward’s arms slowly wrapped around Spongebob’s angles, their flexibility easily handling the harsh corners, which conformed to Squidward’s embrace. Squidward held him, bringing the softness of Spongebob’s body closer to his own.

He was really missing out on hugs. Hugs weren’t so bad.

“I’m… sorry,” he said softly, his voice muffled by Spongebob's head. That word was always so hard for him, and he had said it so many times on this night alone. The only other sound in Squidward’s house was the occasional sniffle from Spongebob. “This is just… hard, I guess. It’s not making a whole lot of sense to me, you know?”

Spongebob looked up at him, eyes puffy. He blinked away more tears. “What’s so hard about it?” he murmured. “I like _you_ , you like _me_ … sounds pretty easy to me.”

Brushing off the unintended insensitivity of that question, Squidward huffed in an almost playful way. “I mean, I haven’t exactly done this whole… _feelings_ thing in a while. Not for the long term anyway.”

Their voices were hushed, as if Squidward’s kitchen was the only inhabited place in the entire ocean. Spongebob cracked a toothy smile as he giggled to himself. _There he is. There’s Spongebob._

“And you think I _have?_ ” Spongebob gave himself enough room between them to move his arms, throwing them wide open. “Before the other night, I never even…”

He blushed, twiddling his thumbs and growing quiet once more. “You know… _kissed_ anyone.”

Squidward gawked at him, his own face growing dark in color. _Barnacles,_ if that night wasn’t embarrassing enough, he had apparently _also_ ruined Spongebob’s first kiss. He averted his eyes  and grimaced in mortification.

“You don’t have to count that if you don’t want to.” Squidward muttered through his teeth. “Especially since you didn’t really… _participate._ Did I say I’m sorry about that? Because, you know. I’m _sorry._ ”

He felt a small, soft hand cupping his face. He looked back down to Spongebob, who gazed up at him with a _very_ confident look on his face, eyes half lidded. Was he being… coy?

“If it would make you feel better,” Spongebob said, almost smirking. His attempt at playfulness was slightly undermined by the fact that he was just crying - the evidence still streaked his face, and his the edges of his eyes were still red, but his voice was low, even if it wavered a bit. “We could always try a redo.”

Squidward’s eyes widened at him - he couldn’t believe that _those_ words came out of _Spongebob’s_ mouth. He wanted to _kiss him? Again?!_

“If you want to, of course.” Spongebob smiled, bringing his arm back down to embrace Squidward again, snuggling deeper into his turtleneck.

“You smell nice,” Spongebob murmured into the fabric. _Good call on that cologne._

Squidward’s arms slowly folded back around the corners of Spongebob’s body. He was so _soft_ \- the texture of his skin against Squidward’s tentacles was almost addictive in nature, and he couldn’t keep himself from stroking his spongey sides. Squidward craned his neck and rested his chin on Spongebob’s head.

They stood there for a few minutes, completely silent.

“It’s late,” Squidward said, to no one in particular. “Eleven thirty.”

Had they really been there for an hour? Squidward couldn’t argue with the kitchen clock, but it had only seemed like Spongebob had just entered his house.

And now he didn’t want him to leave. He _didn’t_ want _Spongebob_ to leave his house.

But he had to - they both had work tomorrow (something that Squidward could hardly believe he was now looking _forward_ to.) Spongebob pulled away and smiled up at Squidward - his tears had long dried, and his eyes had returned to normal.

“Come on,” said Squidward, stifling a yawn. “I’ll walk you home.”

The water was cool when they exited Squidward’s house. Either that, or Squidward was very warm.

_Maybe a little of column A and a little of column B._

Taking the long way along the street as opposed to just cutting through their respective lawns, the two walked the short distance between their homes side-by-side. Squidward jolted as Spongebob took his tentacle in his hand, but he resisted the instinctual urge to pull it away. After all, this was something he desperately wanted not two hours ago. And it felt _better_ than he could have imagined - as they walked, Spongebob stroked his tentacle with his thumb, and it was all Squidward could focus on. Their arms even swung back and forth a little in a counter rhythm to their footsteps.

In a very short while, they had arrived at Spongebob’s front door. They stood before the towering pineapple as Spongebob felt his pockets for his house keys with his free hand. Successful, Spongebob popped the key into the tumbler lock and slowly opened the door. Through the small gap, Squidward could see Gary asleep on the sofa, waiting for Spongebob to arrive home.  

“I had a nice time, Squidward,” Spongebob said, turning to look up at him. He wore a smile that conveyed affection more than it did his usual blatant cheeriness. “I’m glad you invited me to come with you.”

Squidward smiled, desperately hoping he wasn’t blushing as much as he felt like he was. Did it really matter? He coughed in an attempt to diffuse his nerves.

“M-me too,” he stammered. He held up the canvas grocery bag he carried in his left tentacle. “Um, here are your records - let me know what you think of them. I threw in a few bonuses for you - some other big trumpet guys.”

“Oh! Thank you.” Spongebob took the bag from Squidward - they still hadn’t let go of each other’s hands.

There was a beat - a cool current flowed past as the two stood there. Spongebob, smiling, squeezed Squidward’s tentacle in his hand. He seemed to be using it as a distraction, his attention directed at the malleability of the blue appendage as he prodded it with his thumb.

Looking down at Spongebob’s fidgeting, Squidward felt a sort of fluttering sensation in his chest that he couldn’t place - was it courage? Adrenaline? Maybe it was heartburn.

Whatever it was, _something_ was telling Squidward that _now_ was the time to take Spongebob up on his offer. He cleared his throat.

“Um. Sponge?” Spongebob chuckled softly as he continued to knead Squidward’s hand.

“I like it when you call me that.”

_Noted._

Squidward gingerly retreated his tentacle from Spongebob’s grasp - Spongebob’s eyes trailed to follow it before looking up at Squidward with a soft smile.

“What is it, Squidward?” _As if not knowing very well what ‘it’ was._

Squidward bent his knees slightly, as if to make up for their height difference - he struggled to remember the last time he kissed someone (without being smashed out of his mind.) He couldn’t remember any concrete details - he’d have to go with his gut on this one.

_Because it had been right about so many other things._

He gently cupped Spongebob’s cheek with one tentacle, careful not to adhere to his skin with his suction cups.

“I want a redo.”

He went for it - stooping lower to close the distance between them, Squidward closed his eyes and brought his lips to meet Spongebob’s. At first, neither of them moved an inch, processing the sensations of an actual, genuine kiss - Spongebob’s “first” - after a second or two, though, Squidward tilted his head and pressed further, inhaling deeply through his nose. His tentacles gripped Spongebob's sides, digging into the knit fabric of his cardigan.

Spongebob kissed back, doing surprisingly well for someone who had never been kissed before - his legs stretched to accommodate for Squidward having to lean down, adding extra force behind his body. His skinny arms moved from his sides to drape themselves over Squidward’s shoulders, curling behind his head as he stroked the back of Squidward's neck with the tips of his fingers. A small, high-pitched sigh slipped from him as Squidward adjusted his angle, which sent a violent shiver through Squidward’s body.

Without thinking, Squidward abruptly broke the kiss. He wasn't sure what that reaction meant, but he decided he would trust it - he wouldn't press forward. Not tonight. He _liked_ Spongebob. Spongebob liked _him_ \- this was definitely true and undeniable at this point.

And that was a new feeling in and of itself: _mutual affection_. He couldn’t say he had experienced it before - at least, not with the affirmation that only someone like Spongebob Squarepants could provide. He wanted to do what he could to savor it.

Spongebob was grinning from edge to edge, his face practically glowing with blood flow - it was a silly enough expression to make Squidward smile, too.

“I, um,” began Squidward, “I hope that was a better first kiss than your last ‘first kiss,’”

Spongebob nodded briskly, still beaming. He obviously didn't seem to mind stopping where they had. Squidward had to remember that this was all new for him - they should take things slowly and not get carried away just yet.

“Consider the memory rewritten!” Spongebob winked at him before he pulled Squidward in for a quick squeeze - this was _definitely_ something Squidward could see himself getting used to.

“See you tomorrow, Squidward,” he said, before pulling away and stepping into his living room. The two waved goodbye one last time before Spongebob slowly shut the door - Squidward remained outside. He took a deep breath and balled his fists, the tingle of the ghost sensations of Spongebob’s skin on his taking over his entire train of thought.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmured, before slowly departing for home.

He had had a _great_ night with Spongebob Squarepants.


	3. Lemonade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spongebob pays Squidward a visit for some summertime refreshment.

In the month that followed the Findance Film Festival, Squidward’s and Spongebob’s relationship flourished. The two would accompany each other to and from work, whether by foot or by boat - despite Squidward’s efforts to keep their budding romance on the down-low, Mr. Krabs was extremely quick to put two and two together. Luckily for the two of them, he didn’t seem to care one way or the other about what they did in their spare time so long as their work wasn’t affected. In fact, both Spongebob and Squidward were more efficient and productive at their job with the boost in their mood.

After work, they would spend most of their free time with each other. Fancy dinner dates at Squidward’s house were a weekly occurrence, with Spongebob arriving earlier and earlier than expected in order to help with the cooking. While he was fairly inept at making Krabby Patties at the Krusty Krab, Squidward was actually a very good home chef, and with the Krusty Krab’s trusty fry cook as his ‘sous chef,’ the two made a surprisingly good team. While Spongebob didn’t know how to make much outside of a Krabby Patty on his own, he was great at following directions - which only greatly improved his and Squidward’s efficiency in the kitchen. 

Squidward even found himself excited to join Spongebob in his various pastimes, in his own Squidward-y way - trips to Jellyfish Fields with Patrick also now included Squidward, although he passed up actually capturing jellyfish for the chance to bring a sketchbook - or even an easel - and capture the scenery. A chance to get outside did more than wonders for Squidward’s mood, even if he did suffer the occasional jellyfish sting - Spongebob would always give his minor wounds a healing smooch, which, while not a substitute for actual treatment, was something that Squidward greatly appreciated. 

Surprisingly, Squidward enjoyed Spongebob’s affectionate gestures much more than he originally thought he would, especially when in public. Always one to shrug off Spongebob’s unsolicited hugs, Squidward was now someone who would go so far as to _initiate_ displays of affection. He would doodle little hearts on his order slips at work, or take Spongebob’s hand when they were out on the town, even stopping to kiss him at almost random moments out in the open. 

Most days, outside of work, they would spend their free time at each other’s homes - usually, Spongebob could be found at Squidward’s house, popping over once he and Gary had eaten dinner. However, Squidward did make occasional trips to Spongebob’s pineapple, which only grew more frequent over time. Soon, Squidward was as much a fixture on Spongebob’s couch as Spongebob was on his, often getting together for movies, cooking dramas, and episodes of  Squidward’s guilty pleasure reality TV shows. 

As summer made its way into Bikini Bottom and temperatures rose, more and more of its citizens were making concerted efforts to stay inside. Squidward and Spongebob drove to work in Squidward’s aqua-conditioned boat on most days to beat the heat, and due to Mr. Krab’s refusal to adjust the thermostat, business at the Krusty Krab was extremely slow in what would normally be peak season. Even Spongebob didn’t want to go outside, passing on a trip with Patrick to go jellyfishing to vegetate on his living room floor in front of his aqua conditioner. 

Squidward found himself suffering from the heat as well, but not in the same way as Spongebob. While the addition of landscapes and jellyfish to his artistic repertoire had been providing much needed inspiration, lately his muse was a bit… less than stellar. Looking at his walls upon walls of self-portraits, Squidward had the rather humbling realization that his art had improved when he had started to paint things other than _himself._ And with it getting hotter and hotter outside, getting out to try his tentacle at different subjects was more and more difficult. 

The doorbell suddenly rang, breaking Squidward from his musings - he dashed from his parlor to the door, straightening his shirt and taking a deep breath before answering the door. He didn’t really need to make a big production of things every time Spongebob came over - they had been dating steadily for a month now - but he was still _Squidward,_  and some things don’t change. 

Opening the door, he ushered Spongebob in with a wave of his tentacle. Spongebob’s face was flushed, a ruddy pink from the heat, and he was clad in a red tank top and his swim shorts - sweat dripped down his forehead and off the tip of his skinny nose. 

“Hi, Squidward,” he said weakly, raising in arm. He sounded winded - had he just been exercising? Squidward knew Spongebob had a weight set - or what Spongebob _called_ ‘a weight set.’ 

He shut the door behind Spongebob. “You okay, Sponge? Been hitting the weights?” 

After kicking off his shoes, Spongebob trudged over to the kitchen table and plopped down in his usual chair. He was so tired that he forwent his typically pristine table manners and placed his elbows on the table, propping up his face with his hands. 

“Sorry, Squidward,” Spongebob breathed, his eyes listless. “My central AC went dead. I’ve been doing what I could to stay cool, but nothing’s been working. I would have worn something else, but everything is just too _warm_.” Squidward walked into the kitchen and circled around to Spongebob’s end of the table. He placed a tentacle on Spongebob’s head and placed a soft kiss to his temple - from the side of his head, Squidward could feel a smile spread across Spongebob’s face. 

 _Neptune, he’s so_ **_sweaty._ **  

“Don’t worry about it,” Squidward said, pulling away, trying not to make _too_ big of a deal of wiping his tentacle dry on his shirt. “There’s no black tie dress code at _Chateau de Squidward._ ” _Just have clothes_ **_on._ ** “Will Gary be okay alone? It’s not too hot for him?” He turned to head to the refrigerator in order to fix a pick-me-up for the two of them. 

“Nah, Gar-bear’s hogging my window unit in my bedroom - he practically blocking it with his whole shell.” Squidward cracked a smile at the mental image while he dug around through the fridge. _Oop, there it is._  

From the refrigerator, Squidward produced a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. He set it on his cutting board before searching for some glasses. “Lemonade?” he asked, over his shoulder. “I jazzed it up with a little lavender simple syrup.” 

“Yes, _please,”_ came Spongebob’s enthusiastic reply. To that, Squidward grabbed two tall glasses and some ice from the freezer. He gave the pitcher a stir with a wooden spoon to recombine the ingredients before garnishing each glass with a sprig of fresh lavender and filling them both to the top. 

The ice cubes popped and clinked as Squidward brought the glasses over to Spongebob, placing one in front of his neighbor. _No._  

Lover? _No._  

 _Boyfriend._  

It had been so _long_ since Squidward had an actual, steady partner - not since high school - and even then, he still hadn’t considered _any_ prior relationship he’d had “committed” by any stretch of the imagination. Squidward was finding it all to be incredibly refreshing and invigorating, but also terrifying to a degree. There was a sense of openness between them that they very plainly didn’t have before; that Squidward hadn’t had with _anyone_ before. 

It was daunting. As much as Squidward had been enjoying Spongebob’s company, support, and affection, as well as returning those things, he wasn’t sure if it would be possible to just… put himself out there like it was nothing. 

Squidward sat in his seat at the table and took a swig of lemonade - it was crisp, tart, and had a slight herbal quality from the lavender that balanced against the bright citrus flavor. He smiled against his glass as he watched Spongebob enjoy his drink, taking a rather large gulp - Squidward really needed to remind him to savor his food - before holding the glass to his forehead. Spongebob breathed a sigh of contentment at the coolness of the glass against his skin - condensation rolled from the glass and mixed with the sweat on Spongebob’s face. 

“Better?” asked Squidward, nursing his drink. 

 _“Much,_ ” said Spongebob, before taking another sip. “Nice and cool - not to mention _delicious!_ ” 

Squidward beamed with pride at the compliment, setting his glass down to preen. 

“Oh, it’s just something I whipped up this morning - thought it’d do us both some good.” He got up from his seat and collected their glasses - setting them by the sink, Squidward opened the refrigerator and replaced the pitcher of lemonade. “There’s more if you want it - just let me know.” 

“Of course!” said Spongebob. He brought his elbows off the table and assumed a more traditional position in his chair. “So what have you got on tap for today? Clarinet practice? Dusting off your portraits?” 

Squidward frowned. “Those aren't things you need to be here for!” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Even though I'd appreciate the help with the dusting,” he said with an aside glance. 

“I don't mind!” Spongebob grinned. “It doesn't matter what we do as long as I get to spend time with my boyfriend!” Squidward smirked as his stomach fluttered - it was even _nicer_ to hear that word coming from Spongebob. He reach out a tentacle to help Spongebob out of his seat, smiling at the contact when SpongeBob gingerly took it with his hand. 

“Let's go and assess the damage, then.” 

They headed through the hallway into Squidward's parlor. On every wall hung dozens of Squidward's self-portraits, each portraying their creator in a different style and medium. Squidward opened his the door to his closet and pulled out an apron, a ladder, and a duster. 

Spongebob gaped and slowly spun on his toes, taking in the spectacle that stretched all the way to the ceiling. “Wow, Squidward! You've got so many!” 

“Those are just the most recent ones,” Squidward called from the back of the closet - he was looking for another duster, but came up empty-tentacled. He poked his head out from the threshold. “I rotate them out whenever I finish a new one.” 

“Squidward,” Spongebob said, dumbstruck. “There have to be at least a hundred in here.” 

“One hundred forty-seven, to be exact,” Squidward corrected, carrying the ladder to one side of the parlor. “I couldn't find another duster - do you want to dust? Or hold the ladder?” 

“I'll do the dusting!” Spongebob grabbed the plastic duster and donned the apron (after Squidward adjusted it to account for his height) before scurrying up the ladder.  Squidward stood at the bottom, keeping a firm grip on the sides. Spongebob eyed the paintings carefully before calling back down to Squidward. “Are you sure we only need this one duster head?” 

“Yeah,” Squidward said, looking up at Spongebob. He was staring at a rather large piece done with acrylics, featuring Squidward in a rather whimsical pose, almost a pirouette. “I do this every week, so there shouldn't be that much dust on any of them - it's just maintenance at this point. Need to stay on top of it before it gets to be too much for even the two of us to handle.” 

They began their work - Spongebob effortlessly scaled and descended the ladder as he touched up each and every painting. When he was done with what he could reach, he would hop off of the ladder and Squidward would move it over a few feet. As he worked, Spongebob would periodically ask for the title of a piece, all of which Squidward knew by heart. 

“Hey Squidward,” Spongebob said, climbing down the ladder. “Do you ever put up the other stuff you do? Like when we took that trip to Jellyfish Fields? I thought those sketches you did looked really good.” 

“Not really,” answered Squidward. He unconsciously rolled his eyes as he tried to remember the last non-Squidward piece he had put up in the parlor, failing to recall even a single painting. “I mean, that was a sketch, not a finished piece - once we came back home, I lost my muse, so to speak, so I didn’t finish it.” 

“What if you took a picture? Then you could take your muse wherever you went!” Spongebob whipped out his shell phone to demonstrate, taking a quick snapshot of Squidward. He turned the phone to show Squidward - photo-Squidward looked shocked at the sudden intrusion. 

“Delete that!” Squidward yelled, grasping for Spongebob's phone. “I'm in my clean-up clothes! Besides, my phone doesn't have a camera.” 

Spongebob laughed and deleted the picture, showing Squidward as he did so as to prove his honesty. “You really should upgrade - then you can see all the cute emojis I sent you!” 

“Emo...what?” 

Spongebob gasped with mock surprise. “You mean you don't know?” He began furiously tapping at his phone with his thumbs. He pulled up a text conversation between the two of them. 

 _“See you soon!”_ said text-Spongebob. Following the words of the message were three hearts, two yellow and one blue, with the blue in the center. 

“See? Look at all the cute lil’ hearts!” 

Squidward huffed. 

“My phone works just fine - I don't need to replace it! And I can make hearts too!” He pulled out his own phone and typed out a heart made with a lesser-than symbol and a number three, sending it to Spongebob. Spongebob’s phone buzzed in his hand - upon seeing Squidward’s hastily-typed message, he giggled to himself and gave Squidward a quick peck on the nose. 

Squidward rubbed his nose with his tentacle to get rid of the slight tickle of Spongebob’s smooch - he sighed heavily. 

“Maybe you do have a point,” he said, gazing up at the walls of paintings. Hundreds of Squidwards looked judgmentally back at him, their stares blank and half-lidded. The most recent ones _did_ seem to be a bit stale in comparison to his earlier works. Maybe he was entering a rut. “A change of pace could only help me improve - maybe I could do some figure studies, or something...” 

“Ooh,” said Spongebob, his eyes widening. “Figure studies? Like, with a model?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Squidward said, tucking his phone back into his shirt pocket. “Usually I would just draw myself in a mirror, but…” He rubbed his chin with his tentacle, and a slight smile spread across his face. “It’d be a lot easier if I didn’t have to draw _and_ hold a pose!” They both laughed, and Squidward took the duster from Spongebob’s hand. 

“Come on - the dusting can wait. I’d rather get this done while the inspiration’s fresh!” 

“Um,” started Spongebob. He smiled uneasily. “Don’t you need to find a model?” 

“Now why would I do that,” said Squidward, placing a tentacle on Spongebob’s head. “When I’ve got you? 

“Me?!” Spongebob gaped. He averted his eyes and blushed, fanning himself. “Oh, I couldn’t _possibly!_ On such short notice?” 

Squidward snorted at Spongebob’s feigned embarrassment and smirked, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head to one side. “I mean, if you _don’t_ want me to draw you, that’s fine-” 

“-of _course_ I want you to draw me!” Spongebob practically shook Squidward by his shirt as he shouted, pulling himself up to be level with Squidward’s face. “What are we waiting for?!” 

“All right, all right,” said Squidward, taking Spongebob's hands in his tentacles and lowering them from his chest - although he did find he rather liked the intimate contact. “Let's put this stuff away and head up to the studio.” 

After returning the ladder, apron, and duster to the closet, Squidward dashed to the kitchen to grab the pitcher of lemonade - a figure-drawing session could last a while, and his studio could be a little stuffy, even with the A/C on. With pitcher and glasses in tentacle, Squidward lead Spongebob up the staircase - they ascended an extra flight past his bedroom, and Squidward used his shoulder to flip on a light switch, illuminating the expanse of his creative workspace. Spongebob was immediately enraptured, zipping from place to place and inspecting all of Squidward's equipment and supplies. 

After placing the pitcher and glasses down - careful to use coasters, of course - he stepped up to an easel, which held a blank canvas. Squidward folded it up, setting the canvas aside, and set it by the window, facing it towards the center of the room. 

“So,” said Spongebob, his attention directed at Squidward's collection of colored pencils, which were painstakingly organized in chromatic order. Squidward could tell it was taking everything in Spongebob’s power not to pick one out of the case. “What do you want me to _do_ , exactly?” 

Squidward placed an almost comically large pad of paper on the easel and grabbed a swivelling stool. Flipping to a fresh page, he set a collection of pencils on a table to his right and sat down, each of his tentacles spreading and resting on its own spoke. 

“Whatever you want,” he said, arranging the pencils by hardness. “This is a study - I'm not trying to replicate anything.” He leaned over to his side table and fiddled with a speaker connected to his iSoPod (also out of date, Spongebob was quick to note.) Selecting a low-tempo playlist of smooth jazz and other instrumentals, Squidward peeked from behind the easel. “You wouldn't sit in front of a jellyfish and tell it to hold still while you tried to catch it for two hours, would you?” 

Spongebob’s face fell into a lopsided frown as he looked up from the colored pencils. “I guess not,” he said. “But what does that have to do with drawing?” 

Squidward dug an eraser out of the table’s drawer and kneaded at it in his tentacle. “I'm not trying to _draw_ you, I'm trying to _capture_ you. By studying how you move and look from all angles, I can make a picture that fully captures what makes you ‘you.’” He tested the hardness of one pencil on the paper before reaching to select another, softer one. “If I wanted a picture of you posing, I'd take a photo - it’d save me a lot of work.” 

“Hmm,” Spongebob mused, holding his chin in his hand. “I think I get it...” He pursed his lips as his expression grew more contemplative. 

Then his eyes flew wide open. 

“Oh, wait!” He snapped his fingers before his pointer finger shot into the air. The sudden noise and motion nearly made Squidward drop his pencil. “Don’t models have to be _nude_ for this stuff?” 

“Uh...” Squidward stared straight into his sketchpad in a vain attempt to keep Spongebob from seeing him blush. He hadn’t considered this possibility! _Had he?_ He was beginning to realize that he might have chosen a bad spot for his easel - either the sun was beating on his back, or Spongebob’s proposition had caused a sudden and uncomfortable spike in body temperature. 

“That… won’t be necessary - I-I mean...” 

 _It’s nothing you haven’t seen_ **_before_** _, Squidward. Besides, an artist must always push the envelope and step outside his comfort zone...!_  

...is what he’d tell himself. 

“...I’ll leave it up to you. Just, you know… be _tasteful_ about it _._ I'm not trying to branch out into more _sordid_ work, if you get my drift.” 

Spongebob smiled at him, as if piercing right through Squidward’s paper fortress. His grin had a wryness to it that very precisely communicated to Squidward that Spongebob knew _exactly_ what he was thinking - Squidward began to break into a cold sweat. 

“Tell you what, Squidward - I’ll meet you halfway.” As if this was the moment he’d been waiting for his entire life, Spongebob gave his swim trunks a swift yank downward with one hand and whipped off his tank top with the other. He stepped daintily out of the downed pants, now clad in just a pair of white briefs - running over to the window, Spongebob neatly folded his clothes and laid them on the floor by Squidward's easel. There was a beat as they made eye contact, as Spongebob almost _hesitated_ , smiling, before dashing back to the space in front of Squidward’s easel and striking a triumphant pose, his hands on his hips and his legs spread wide. 

“I know,” he said, puffing out his chest. “It’s not every day that you get to portray such an absolute _specimen.”_ Through his mortification - Spongebob was next-to-naked in his _home_ \- Squidward managed an anxious laugh at Spongebob’s fooling around. 

“I’ll try my _best_ to keep my composure,” Squidward snarked (or attempted to snark) from behind the easel as his blood roared in his ears, his eyes feeling as though they would burn straight through the paper. _Neptune, will I try._  

He glanced back and forth between Spongebob, who was still flexing, and his paper, before selecting an acceptable quadrant of the sketchbook in which to start. He peered over to Spongebob and simply observed as he moved, studying the way his body adjusted to his various poses. 

Starting with a square seemed obvious, but Squidward was an _artist,_ and he knew better than to box himself in (no pun intended) - he would start with a line of motion. While Spongebob's body was indeed _square_ in shape, to draw a square would completely restrict his sketch’s sense of motion - and if Squidward knew anything about Spongebob, it was that he was capable of a great _deal_ of motion. 

He started with a line - as most drawings begin - moving from top to bottom of his chosen corner; a slight curve that arced more sharply backwards towards the end, to represent Spongebob's spine (if he even had one.) He began drafting a basic standing pose to get his bearings - a three-quarters angle was a bit… simple, but it would get the most details established in the least amount of time. 

Squidward lightly sketched another line, almost parallel to the first, beginning to get a feel for the dimensions of Spongebob's body. Eyeing him from his stool, Squidward also started light work on Spongebob's eyes - two large circles, squished together in the center of the face, made themselves apparent in his mind’s eye. _Nice and expressive - maybe a little taller than wide._ Spongebob's attention drifted to a painting on the wall behind Squidward, and Squidward took that opportunity to have his sketch look in that same direction - _just_ off-center enough to look past the viewer, and not directly forward. 

When Squidward next peeked over at Spongebob, he was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed in front of him, and his hands resting on his knees. Squidward took it as a chance to further focus on Spongebob’s facial features. Spongebob’s pleasant resting smile was surprisingly difficult to translate onto paper - a simple curved line wouldn’t suffice when there were also adjustments to be made to his round, freckled cheeks and supple bottom lip. 

 _Dear Neptune above, don’t get started on_ **_that_ ** _again, Squidward._

“So, when'd you get interested in art, anyway, Squidward?” came Spongebob’s voice from behind the easel - Squidward blinked, almost as if brought out of a trance. Without looking up, he answered.

“Probably in high school - that’s when I took elective art classes, anyway." He darkened the marks he’d made as placeholders for Spongebob’s pupils, now that he was confident in their target and direction. He began work on his eyelashes. “I always liked to draw and paint as a kid, but I wasn’t so much into _art_ until I had a chance to _hone_ my craft.” He leaned to the side to give Spongebob’s face another look, this time to get a hold of the placement of his pores. One here, a little one there… With light, circular motions of his tentacle, he drafted a few preliminary holes on his sketchy sponge. 

“What about you?” Squidward droned as he filled in the pores that he deemed worthy. “I remember you came to my class at the adult learning center.” _And that it was a real bust._

_Heh. Art humor._

Spongebob seemed to squirm in place a bit as color dusted his cheeks. Squidward made a mental note of it and lightly shaded his drawing. “Aw, well,” he started, averting his gaze. “I always wanted to draw cartoons when I was little. I know that’s not really _artsy,_ but… I guess I wanted a chance to learn from someone who _really_ knew what he was doing.” He flashed his teeth in a shy grin, almost as a defense mechanism.

Squidward smiled. Seeing Spongebob embarrassed was so rare, what with his boundless self-confidence - although Squidward knew that some of it was a front. Spongebob’s unyielding optimism did wonders for others, but they both knew that he was a lot deeper than the simple sponge he tried to portray.

“Well, from what I remember, you had a lot of potential.” Squidward’s face grew a bit warm as he relayed the praise - openness was really something he’d have to work at. But once he started, he found it hard to keep from gushing. “When you drew that head? You know, when I asked you how you made a perfect circle?" He sighed as he recounted that first class, at the pure, unleaded _talent_ that Spongebob possessed. “And like it was _nothing.”_

Squidward chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping the prickling pain would distract him from the twinge of utter _hopelessness_ he felt in his stomach. He knew their differences in effort were only in his head, but it still didn’t stop him from feeling just a little bit… _inadequate._

“Yeah, but I was doing it _wrong!”_ Spongebob whined. His arms moved behind him, his palms flat on the floor, propping up his torso. “ _You_ know the techniques - _you_ went to art school!” He pointed towards a framed diploma that hung on the wall to the right of the window, just over Squidward's right shoulder.

Now Squidward felt _really_ lousy - his time in school was a bit of a sore subject, but Spongebob wouldn't have exactly _known_ that if Squidward didn't ever talk about it. So, while he was being open…

He inhaled, putting the pencil down. “It doesn't _mean_ anything, Sponge. It doesn't matter  _how_ you create art if you like the final product, you know?” He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Besides,” he said, and his voice was quiet now. He was suddenly struggling to look Spongebob in the eye. “That diploma isn't even _real.”_

It was Spongebob's turn to be caught off-guard.

 _“What?!”_ he sputtered, almost shouting, before scrambling up from the floor and over to Squidward's side. He looked up at Squidward, expectantly, as if expecting him to relay the tale of the century. Squidward got up from his stool and turned, plucking the forgery from the wall.

“Yup,” he said, wiping the dust off of the glass frame with his elbow. “Never finished school. Had this made to fool Mom and Dad.” He looked down at Spongebob, whose eyes were now practically bugging out of his head, his mouth gaping in shock at the mere _implication_ that Squidward could _lie_ about something as big as finishing college. Squidward scowled at him, putting his free tentacle on his hip.

“Oh, please. Like you don't have something dumb that you’ve lied about for years and years.”

Spongebob frowned at him - it was strange to see such a disapproving look on such an optimistic sponge, and Squidward couldn’t say he was a fan of it.

“Well, _sure,”_ he started, which actually shocked Squidward - he didn't truly think Spongebob had things he'd lie about. “But about your education? What about the technique, the masters, the books?”

“Self-taught,” Squidward said plainly. “I don't need a diploma to read a few books, or practice alone, or anything like that. Anyone can be an artist.” Squidward hung his false diploma back on its spot on the wall. He stared at it, frozen, almost as if he was being sucked into the void of black ink that wrote out his claim of having _done_ something with himself. “At least, that's what I told myself back when I was eighteen. Maybe it'll be true some day.”

He was pulled back out of the void by an abrupt embrace. Spongebob had wrapped his arms around his torso and squeezed him, and Squidward could only stroke his arm with the tip of his tentacle.

“Okay, okay,” he said, rolling his eyes and tapping Spongebob on the head. “That's enough sap for now, don't you think?” Spongebob looked up at him and just shook his head, snuggling against the shirt Squidward had picked out for household chores, as if to say that there would _never_ be enough sap as far as Spongebob was in his life. He shortly relinquished his hold on Squidward, grabbing a fresh glass of lemonade and plodding, bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor, back to the center of the room. As we walked, the sunlight, pouring into the room from the window behind Squidward, bounced off of the top edge of Spongebob's body, casting him in a yellow that was somehow both soft and vibrant; it was one that filtered through some of Spongebob's pores, as if there was a lightbulb inside of him. The flaxen hue matched the color of the glass of lemonade in his hand, and at that moment, pure artistic inspiration struck Squidward like a hammer on glass - Squidward knew he had to capture it.

“Hold it!” he shouted, pointing a tentacle at Spongebob. Spongebob froze, one leg half-lifted, as Squidward went to dig through his acrylic paints - this color was so _sharp,_ so _vivid_ that it had to be represented with the purest pigment possible.

“Squidward, what’s going on?” Spongebob still managed to hold his pose, but sweat was beginning to form on his brow, his legs wobbling a bit as Squidward dabbed a bit of every yellow he had onto a palette.  “Is there an urchin on me or something?”

Squidward harshly shushed him as he found a suitable, clean brush, and dashed back to his sketch. “Don’t...move.”

Frantically blending each of the paints with just a little bit of white, and then more, and then more, and then the paints with each other, he finally found a perfect match and smeared a glob of it on the paper. He didn’t even paint it _on_ the sketch of Spongebob - he just splattered it in the margins so he would have the color to reference later.

“Okay,” Squidward said to himself, lowering his palette and trying not to think of all the expensive paint he had just wasted for this _one color._ “Okay, you can move!” Squidward called from his work over to Spongebob, who nearly fell flat on his face when he released the pose - luckily, he had only stumbled a bit, and didn’t spill any lemonade on the floor. Spongebob righted himself, taking a swig of his drink, raising an eyebrow while his mouth was occupied as if to ask _“What was that about?”_

Squidward raised his palette to show Spongebob just how much effort he’d put into getting that one shade of yellow. “Sorry - I just wanted to get this color on the page - if you had moved, the lighting wouldn’t have been right.”

Spongebob swallowed his sip of lemonade and smiled, his tongue jutting out a bit from behind his front teeth.

“I didn’t think you’d be _painting_ me, too!” He raised his hand to his mouth in excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

He got back on the floor, but this time, he laid on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. He placed the back of his hand on his forehead, tossing it back as he sighed: “I'm ready to continue, Mr. Tentacles.”

Squidward snorted to himself. “All right, _Romeo,_ ” he said, fumbling about for his pencil. “But I don’t think you’d want to lay there while the paint dried - let’s just stick to drawing today, shall we?”

Spongebob laughed and let his free hand fall to his side, draping it over his hip and he lay there. His eyelids drooped as his pose went from silly to - dare the thought cross Squidward's mind - _sultry._ Squidward swallowed, suddenly in the mood for his own glass of lemonade, as he tried to keep his focus on his drawing - he went to detail the slightly dimpled and ruffled edges of Spongebob’s body, adding a darker, wavering line of the originally flat edges of the sketch. As his pencil made its way down the page, Squidward’s tentacle halted right below the face.

His face scrunched towards one side as he gritted his teeth - he’d _have_ to draw clothes on this thing sooner or later. Granted, if Spongebob happened to see that his sketch self was _naked_ , he’d probably chalk it up to the piece not being finished, which it _wasn’t._ Besides, it was _almost_ true to life, Squidward reasoned - Spongebob was sitting there in his underpants, and it wasn’t like he was leaving much to the imagination.

 _Not that there was much to_ **_imagine_** _, anyway._

 _Besides,_ what was an art collection without a few tasteful nudes? Squidward already had a few among his self-portraits.

His eyes screwed shut - come to think of it, perhaps Squidward should take those down. The idea of Spongebob having seen artistic depictions of _himself_ without clothing was enough to make Squidward hot under the collar - not that he was _unattractive_ by any means (or else he wouldn’t have painted himself so often!) Squidward squirmed on his stool at the mere _thought_ of Spongebob seeing him naked; of being so incredibly _vulnerable_ before him and letting him see all there was to see.

Spongebob must have noticed Squidward zoning out again - the sound of his voice was enough to make Squidward accidentally snap the tip of his pencil off on the sketchpad. It left a rather conspicuous mark.

“Hey, Squidward?” came Spongebob’s voice - he was still in his “seductive” pose, but his face was soft now, his bottom lip in a slight pout. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh,” was all Squidward could manage. He decided to put the pencil down, as it had to be sharpened anyway, and he sidled over to the pitcher of lemonade to get some much needed refreshment. Taking a long drink, almost the whole glass in one motion, he swallowed and sighed before picking up his broken pencil and a sharpener. “Sure,” he croaked - the lemonade didn't really help.

“It's a little personal,” Spongebob continued, still frowning. “If you don't want to answer, you don't have to. Just something I'm curious about, I guess.”

Well, with a preface like _that,_ Squidward's throat got even drier. He focused on slowly twisting the pencil inside the sharpener; on the slight scrape it made as the graphite and wood was shaved into a point.

“Shoot,” he said, almost as if he was talking to himself and not to Spongebob, speaking into the void. “Can't say 'no’ if I don't hear it.”

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Spongebob was quiet at first, again a rarity, and even though Squidward wasn't directly looking at him, he could _feel_ the heat rising, not just in the room as the sun beat on his back, but emanating both from Spongebob and from himself.

_Scrape, scrape, scrape._

“W-when,” he started, his voice creaking. “When did you realize that you…” He shifted from propping himself up with his elbow to laying flat on his side, using the same arm to only push up his head. “You know...liked _guys?_ ”

 _Snap._ Squidward's tentacle moved just a little too far, and the point he had just made had broken off inside the sharpener. He looked up to Spongebob, who was on his back now, just staring at the ceiling as if he was on a therapist's couch. Before Squidward could say anything, Spongebob sighed and spoke up into the air.

“I know, it's...weird. I'm sorry - I guess I just never really met another guy who liked guys and was _okay_ with it. Like,” Spongebob gestured in the air loosely. “You’re just so… _you_ , and you don't _care,_ and  _I’m me,_ and  _I_ don't care.”

Squidward put the pencil and sharpener, still joined, down at his easel, pouring himself another glass of lemonade from the pitcher. It _was_ a weird question, but only because it had never been asked of him before. It would make sense, he presumed, that Spongebob would want to know this stuff about him, especially since they were dating and had been doing so for a full month, but somehow the origins of either of their orientation or interest in men hadn't come up.

Standing by the window, sipping at his lemonade as a buffer while he formulated an answer, Squidward decided that he would just be out with it - he would be direct, but he wouldn't go into the nitty-gritty (for both of their sakes.)

“High school,” he said, setting down his once-again-empty glass. “Senior year - a guy I knew kissed me, and... I guess I liked it.”

Spongebob lifted his head, staring Squidward down from across the room. He seemed _bemused_ , for lack of a better term, his eyebrow raised.

“Really? That's it?”

Squidward put his tentacles on his hips and glared. “You asked! What did you expect, a teen soap opera?”

Spongebob laughed - an earnest, soft laugh that only Squidward seemed to earn and deserve. “I guess I just expected more build-up. Years of self-denial - rejection by your peers - that sort of thing.”

Squidward felt something behind that remark, almost like a tug at his shirt, and, deciding very suddenly that he was done with art at the moment, Squidward softly stepped over to where Spongebob lay and sat down on the floor to join him. He slowly lowered himself to that they laid head-to-head against the hardwood.

“I mean,” Squidward started, now speaking to the ceiling as well. “It was more like I wasn't ...self-aware? I always liked the things I like - I did art, I took dance, I went out for theatre, I dressed...differently - I _was_ different - but I was so focused on my art, and my clarinet, and all of that, that I...”

He raised his tentacle in front of him, and curled it, sticking his suction cups together and slowly pulling them apart. “...I didn't even care about girls, or guys, or fitting in, or parties, or anything other than my own…” he swished his tentacle around in the air. “ _...stuff,_ until, well, senior year, like I said.” He lowered his arm and laid it on his own chest, feeling at the fabric of his shirt.

There was a beat of silence between them, the only sound a bluesy trumpet solo from the one and only Big Barry Blowfish that was suspended above them like clouds. The soft sound of their breathing punctuated the piece for a few solid minutes before Squidward cleared his throat.

“What about you?” he said, his eyes slowly closing as the haze of summer fell on him like a blanket, despite the A/C, and despite the lemonade. He wondered if Spongebob’s mentions of self-denial were references to his own life, and if he was pushing too far with his seemingly innocuous question. Spongebob was quiet for a moment, and without seeing each other, even the smallest stretch of time seemed to go on for ages.

“I guess…” Spongebob’s voice seemed thin, floating in the air above them, mixing in with the music. “I always knew? I mean, I never really wanted to _go out_ with anyone in school, but I did tend to like… stick around guys? And think they were cute and stuff? I dunno.” His voiced faded, dying out as Barry Blowfish crooned a somber solo.

“I was always different, just like you,” he laughed. “I was like, the ‘gay best friend,’ you know? Every girl in my class wanted to be my friend, but not to like, _be_ my _friend -_ just to say they were friends with someone like me.”

“Ugh,” said Squidward, rolling his head back against the floor. “I know all about that - obviously, _I_ wasn’t the guy everyone wanted to be friends with, but there were definitely guys like that when I was in school. I was more of a… well, I was a dork. Even being a _token gay_ didn’t cancel that out. Just made me less cool, if that were possible.”

The piece was ending, and a new one faded in - this time low, acoustic guitar filled the room as they lay there.

“There _was_ this one guy, though…” Spongebob began. Although Squidward couldn’t see him, he could almost _hear_ his grin in his voice.

“Oh yeah?” Squidward flexed his tentacles against the wood of the floor - one of his feet managed to stick, and he focused on slowly peeling it off. Spongebob giggled to himself in his trademark fashion.

“Yeah, at my first job. He was tall, and _super_ funny, and was into _all_ this cool stuff...not to mention, he was really _cute._ ”

Squidward sighed. Of course Spongebob would be into guys like _that._

“You might know him? Blue? Six tentacles?”

Oh. _Oh! He_ was a guy like that!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Squidward almost couldn’t believe it - _he_ was Spongebob’s first… for lack of a better word, _crush?_

And he thought he was _cute?_ And all of that other stuff, but _cute?!_ Naturally, Squidward found it difficult to accept the genuine compliment.

“He sounds like a _real loser._ ” Squidward felt Spongebob shift from his spot on the floor - he was flipping himself over. After a bit of shuffling around, he was able to nuzzle up to Squidward and hug him as they both lay prone in Squidward’s studio. In his peripheral vision, Squidward saw his pitcher on a table and made a mental note to make more lemonade.

“I would have been your friend, Squidward.”

Squidward hummed a sort of questioning hum, closing his eyes.

  
“Sponge, I hate to break it to you, but I think we’re past that point.” Spongebob laughed, his arms tucking themselves neatly under Squidward’s, and despite the absorbent qualities of Spongebob's skin, he was still clammy to the touch. It was too stuffy inside for this, but Squidward didn’t really mind - he could always take a cold shower later.

“I meant, like... in school. I’d have been your friend if we went to school together.” Squidward couldn’t help but smile at the idea of them having met in high school - if they would have even been each other’s _type -_ at least, Squidward knew he was Spongebob’s type _._

“I don’t doubt you would have tried,” Squidward quipped. He wondered if an eighteen-year-old Squidward would have even _allowed_ for such a thing if he weren’t so preoccupied with-

“-Squidward?”

“Yeah.”

“When did you…” Squidward felt him inhale sharply before continuing, clearly conflicted. “When did you realize you liked _me?_ ”

Now _that_ was a question to which Squidward didn’t know the answer. Sure, the night at the Krusty Klub stuck out in his mind, but that, in reality, was him _acting_ on suppressed feelings - not realizing them. His breath skittered from his mouth as he tried to pinpoint something - _anything_ concrete.

“I…” he started, and he thought some more. “I guess, maybe it all came together at Findance. But, if I’m being honest?” And he _was,_ and it was _hard._ “I think I’ve liked you for a while.”

“What do you mean?” said Spongebob, staring upwards along with Squidward; next to Squidward; _holding_ Squidward.

Squidward sighed. _He_ didn’t even know what he meant - he was literally formulating thoughts at the rate at which he spoke. “Like… I don’t know. When you moved here, you were annoying, and optimistic, and chatty, and all of these other things that…”

“...that?”

“...things that reminded me of how I used to be. When I was younger, even though I wasn’t popular, I was… I dunno, a pretty upbeat kid. I had dreams, and I wanted to make friends so _badly_ , and I wore bright colors, and all of that junk.”

“...what happened to that?” They both hadn’t looked away from the ceiling. Even without eye contact, there was an _intimacy_ to this conversation that Squidward found to be somehow both uncomfortable and completely exhilarating.

“Life? I guess? I had discovered this whole other part of me, you know? And I burst into college like, _‘I’m gonna be somebody,’_ and then that stressed me out, so I dropped out, and I moved here to start fresh, but I got a dead-end job, and then there was this constant feeling of _failure_ , and it all just...sucked everything out of me. And then you showed up.” Squidward felt his right tentacle being squeezed now, and of all things, his lip began to quiver.

Was he _really_ about to _cry_ over this? _Neptune,_ why was he such a _loser?_

“You were so… sickeningly nice. It made me think of how I used to be, and how everything went wrong for me, and I thought, ‘what if that happened to _him?’_ and I actually _worried_ about you.”

His eyes were stinging now, and he screwed them shut to stave off what he knew were tears.

“I remember when that jerk customer made you cry when we delivered that pizza, or… when _I_ made you cry, on April Fool’s Day, or at Christmas, and when I saw someone like _you_ crying like _that,_ I’d always feel really _bad_ , like _I_ was the one crying. And I guess I understand it more clearly now, but back then, I didn’t really get why it got to me like that - but I knew that if I could help it, I didn’t ever want to see you cry again.”

Squidward opened his eyes to see the ceiling again. It was blurry - he felt a tear slide down his right cheek, and his left eye was full and ready for its amassment of tears to drop, as well.

“I’ve never felt that way about anyone - so I guess that’s probably when I _knew_ , even if I didn’t want to admit it.”

In one swift motion, Spongebob pulled himself on top of Squidward - he looked into Squidward’s eyes with an expression of near-awe, brushing away his tears with a single, yellow finger, absorbing the liquid on contact. There was a very soft smile on his face, not the usual grin that stretched all the way across, but one that parted his lips just enough that Squidward could barely see his buck teeth. Squidward could also see that Spongebob had tears him his eyes, as well - he felt the old pang in his stomach and frowned.

“Don't do that! I _just_ got finished telling you about how I _hate_ it when you cry!”

Spongebob only laughed at Squidward's protesting, the welling tears dripping onto Squidward's shirt as his eyes creased.

“I know,” he said, and sniffled a bit. “You're just…” Spongebob looked away again, biting his lip and smiling, just a little.

“What?” Squidward felt himself shrinking, as if it were possible to phase through the floor. Spongebob's expression softened further, if it were possible, his eyes half-lidded and filled with something Squidward could only call _admiration_ \- or maybe...love? It was terrifying and _thrilling_ all at once, and Squidward could feel his pulse in the tips of his tentacles.

“You're so _sweet,”_ he whispered - and then he kissed him. And Squidward’s thoughts screeched to a halt - he could only melt, his arms falling to the floor above his head as Spongebob’s small, soft, _perfect_ hands cupped his face, his thumbs stroking Squidward’s cheeks. The soft sound of a brush on a snare drum punctuating their actions as a piano run danced around their heads, and they almost seemed to move with a _rhythm_ , their faces tilting and slowly pressing deeper and deeper.

A soft, voiceless sigh fell from Spongebob’s lips as he broke the kiss, his face flushing as his tongue could be seen pressing against the back of his teeth. He panted, very quietly - and yet, it echoed off the inner walls of Squidward’s brain - as they stared at each other, chests rising and falling as if to the beat of Big Barry Blowfish’s band.

And in that moment, like the graphite of his pencil, something in Squidward snapped. His tentacles shooting up from their resting place above his head, he grabbed Spongebob’s sides and pulled him closer, their mouths sealed in a bruising kiss not unlike the one at the Krusty Klub - except this time, through all of the adrenaline-fueled static in his brain, Squidward knew _exactly_ what he was doing. His suction cups stuck and pinched at Spongebob’s skin, eliciting a small, surprised noise, almost a _moan,_ from Spongebob, which sent a jolt through Squidward’s body - his chest brushed against Spongebob’s - earning Squidward another particularly _delicious_ noise -  and instead of breaking away like he had before, on the night of Findance, he only felt the desire to push _further._  

 _“Squidward,”_ Spongebob sighed, his fingers raking down Squidward’s chest as the two heaved, their breath hot between their faces. He slid to the side, his face nestling in the crook of Squidward’s neck - Spongebob’s panting puffed warmly against his skin, which only riled the buzz in Squidward’s brain further. He bucked, his head rolling back as Spongebob placed a kiss at his neck, his buck teeth grazing him ever-so slightly.

Spongebob might have been new to all of this, but he was learning _very_ quickly - at Squidward’s sudden motion, he took his opportunity to slide a hand up Squidward’s shirt. Squidward made a rather _undignified_ noise at the touch, but found himself leaning into it, moving with Spongebob’s hand as it stroked the smooth skin of his chest.  Against his neck, Squidward felt Spongebob smiling, and it only fueled the long-dormant volcano of emotions that was Squidward - it was so liberating, so intoxicating, being this exposed and open and _shameless_ with another person, and in his own _studio,_ his private space, on his terms.

Pulling his tentacles off of Spongebob with a loud “pop,” Squidward hurried to yank at his own shirt, nearly tearing it off of his body in the desperate hope that Spongebob would just keep _touching_ him, and of course he _did,_ his lips and fingers claiming purchase at his shoulders, and his chest, and his neck. As much as Squidward enjoyed it, though  - and _Neptune_ , did he _enjoy_ it - he couldn’t help but notice his lack of participation. Grabbing Spongebob’s upper arms now, he quickly flipped them both so that Squidward was on top - planting a firm kiss at Spongebob’s mouth, he _ground_ his hips into him (even if he really had nothing to grind, per se,) swallowing the keen that he earned in response.

He traced the edge of one of Spongebob's pores with his tentacle and he _shuddered_ underneath him, bucking up against Squidward's body. His free hand gripped the back of Squidward's head, nails dragging as he tried to bring him closer - if at all possible - and practically shoving his tongue into Squidward's mouth. Squidward made a muffled noise in shock and near _delight_ at Spongebob's eagerness, adding his own tongue to the mix - he laughed at Spongebob's sudden squeak and the jolt that ran through his body at the contact. Spongebob's knee rose as he adjusted to the next of several new and exciting sensations, and it brushed against Squidward's body, at the central meeting point of all four of his legs.

Squidward _moaned_ at even the _suggestion_ of contact with such an intimate area _._

 _Neptune, it’s been so_ **_long-!_ **

Squidward was still finding it difficult to believe any of this - his head swum at Spongebob clinging to him as if he was the only thing in the world; at how desperately he _wanted_ Squidward; at how _bizarre of a concept that was,_ that someone _wanted_ him, _needed_ him even, and that he would ever _return_ feelings of that nature. In fact, it was so hard to believe, that it wasn't long before a particularly _dreadful_ thought nagged at Squidward's mind, through all of the _excitement_ , and the _joy,_ and the _unbridled_ **_lust_ ** that took its spot at the forefront of Squidward's mind for the first time in a _long_ while.

What if he had somehow made Spongebob _feel_ like he had to do this? Not just what they were _currently_ doing - no, not just that - but kissing him? Calling him cute? Going with him to Findance?

He felt his stomach suddenly fall, and paired with the adrenaline that coursed through his body, it was a _very_ unwelcome sensation - his legs started to shake, and suddenly the feeling of Spongebob kissing him made him feel _sick._

Was any of it actually _genuine?_ Did Spongebob _pity him?_ How could anybody as wonderful and supportive and positive as Spongebob _possibly_ feel this way for a talentless, uneducated, hopeless _loser?_

He broke the kiss and shrank back, kneeling upright and staring forward - he held his tentacles in front of his face. Everything was shaking: his tentacles; his body; even his _teeth_ were chattering, and his heartbeat _roared_ , drowning out Spongebob’s concerned voice.

“Squidward? Squidward, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He _could,_ but at the same time he _couldn’t,_ and his mouth was so _dry_ \- it felt like it was going to be sucked inside out _._ This was real - it _had_ to be real. Spongebob wouldn’t _pretend_ to like him - he wasn’t capable of doing something like that, and _yet_ Squidward wanted to vomit; he wanted to disappear. His vision was starting to get blurry - blinking, he felt tears drip down his face.

Oh, _great_ \- not only was he a complete loser, but now he was crying again. And he wasn’t just sniffling like before - he was sobbing. He was hyperventilating - his body shook with each breath as tears and mucus drenched his face. _How_ could he have been so terrible as to somehow manipulate Spongebob into enjoying his company?

 _No - you didn’t do_ **_anything_ ** _wrong - Spongebob likes you! He just had his tongue in your throat, for_ **_shrimp’s sake!_ **

Neptune _above_ , what if Squidward had _coerced him?_ What if he was _pressuring_ him into doing this? It was so _obvious_ \- he had clearly gone too far when he took his shirt off. By completely exposing himself, by acting so completely _desperate_ , he had made Spongebob uncomfortable - he _had_ to have, otherwise this _wouldn’t be happening._ Spongebob wouldn’t _do_ this, at least not with _someone like him_ unless he felt _forced_ to.

_Right?_

He was shaking more violently now, because he was _being_ shaken. Spongebob had him by the shoulders - his fingers dug into him, but Squidward could barely feel it; he could barely hear him calling - no, _screaming_ \- his name; and even though he was staring right at him, he could barely _see_ how much Spongebob was crying. Squidward was limp - he felt a sort of empty, draining feeling as he was trapped in his own head, feeling even _worse_ as he, in his utter _foolishness_ , had made Spongebob cry.

And everything seemed to freeze - he froze; Spongebob froze; _time froze_. It occured to Squidward, in that moment, that he had felt that particular _empty feeling_ before.

He had inked himself.

And now it was apparent that Spongebob’s hands were _black_ as they held his shoulders; that there was _black_ all around them, all over his studio floor. Through Spongebob’s rushed, frantic “it’s okay, it’s okay”s, all Squidward could croak out was a few whimpers - in his panic and embarrassment, he couldn’t even _apologize_ for what he had just done, and his stomach felt like it was going to fall straight out of him.

Squidward was suddenly off the ground - Spongebob had scooped him up, bridal style, although Squidward’s heavy breathing and shaking was sure to have made it difficult - and he was being whisked down the stairs and towards his bathroom. Delicately stepping through Squidward’s bedroom, Spongebob pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder and gingerly laid Squidward in his bathtub. He flinched against the cold porcelain before curling into a very shameful, inky ball as he heard water running from the sink.

Spongebob climbed over the edge of the bathtub, holding a damp washcloth - Squidward could barely process it all; Spongebob’s feet were leaving footprints on the bathtub, which meant they were likely all over the floor, and Squidward decided to focus on formulating a game plan for cleaning it all up to distract himself from the unleaded embarrassment of having had a particularly messy involuntary bodily function occur in front of his boyfriend.

Spongebob raised up the washcloth with a sheepish smile.

“So, do you wanna do this yourself? Or…”

It was a simple question, and an obvious one, but Squidward couldn’t even get an answer out without sobbing, as every dark thought that he had about Spongebob and whether or not he actually cared about him exploded through his mind again, now with the bitter tinge of mortification and _guilt_ , because how _could_ he think that of Spongebob? How could he think that he didn’t deserve a single healthy relationship, and that someone like Spongebob Squarepants would be disingenuous about _anything_ in his life? Bringing his tentacles to his face, he could only whimper and shake in a desperate bid for the storm of thoughts to stop. Spongebob crawled across the tub floor and hugged him tightly - the warmth of the washcloth in his left hand startled Squidward at first, but he soon relaxed and cried openly into Spongebob’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Squidward,” came his voice, soft and soothing in his ear, which only made Squidward cry harder. They sat like that for a few minutes, huddled together, before Squidward could calm down in any capacity, Spongebob kissing and reassuring him all the while. Spongebob stood up.

“I’m going to leave this with you,” he said, handing Squidward the washcloth. Squidward took it, his arm still trembling, but much more stable than before. “I’ll see what I can do about the floors and stuff, okay?” He nodded, but felt a pang in his chest at the thought of Spongebob being away from him for even a _second_ right now.

Spongebob pressed a kiss to Squidward’s forehead before hopping out of the tub and wetting another washcloth. He left the bathroom, presumably to start work on his studio - Squidward tried to stabilize his breathing, inhaling deeply. Provided Spongebob didn’t walk on the rug in his bedroom, he shouldn’t have had a hard time cleaning up - his hardwood floors were all sealed and treated specifically for this reason (not that it was a personal problem! It was a standard to be upheld by all cephalopods!)

It was time to get to work. His sniffling echoing off the floor and walls, Squidward proceeded to clean himself. He would be stained for a while - information that he’d have to pass on to Spongebob at some point, as he remembered seeing black on his hands, as well - but the actual ink itself came off with a few easy wipes. He ran the washcloth over each and every tentacle, staring into the mix of jet black ink and white, frothy suds as they mixed over his skin. Wiping off the residual ink from where Spongebob had touched and held him, Squidward moved on to the _pièce de résistance_ \- his siphon.

Spreading his legs wide, he looked down to assess the damage - it was, understandably, a mess, but it had appeared to have stopped dribbling ink. Taking the washcloth - which was definitely going in the trash later - he scrubbed, even pushing it inside of himself so as to get rid of any lingering ink that might seep out later. He exhaled at the intrusion - one that he had found himself desperate for not half an hour ago - and tried his best to relax before giving it a good twist, absorbing the ink from the walls of his insides. He groaned at the roughness of the fabric - uncomfortable as it was, it had to be done so that he confidently sit down today.

Holding his breath, he slowly pulled the washcloth out from inside of him. It was deep black and dripping, completely saturated with ink, and most definitely unusable at this point. While skin stains would go away with time, the stuff was near impossible to get out of fabric, and so his washcloth would never be the same. He stood and wrung the stained washcloth out over the drain before stepping out and tossing it into his trash can.

It was at that point that he heard a knock on his bathroom door - Spongebob must have been done with cleaning the floor. Quickly donning the bathrobe that hung on the back of the door, he opened the door to find Spongebob - he was almost completely ink-stained.

“Hey Squidward!” he said, with a little wave and a big smile - he seemed genuinely happy to see Squidward up and moving again. “Floors are all clean! I couldn’t find a mop, so…” He shrugged.

Suddenly, gazing upon a jet-black Spongebob, Squidward felt like crying again - Spongebob had stained himself from head to toe just for _him_. But he didn’t - somehow, he didn’t burst into tears as he looked at Spongebob, who looked back at him with his usual smile, as if he wasn’t just sobbing in his bathtub.

“Um,” started Squidward, finding it a bit weird to actually speak for the first time in a while. “Thanks. I mean, thank for cleaning the floors, but thanks for… you know. I’m... sorry about all of that. I guess I got scared, or, y’know, something.” He flexed a foot against the floor and scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with Spongebob.

“Oh, of _course,_ Squidward!” And suddenly Squidward was being held again - he didn’t know how much he’d missed it until Spongebob had left him in the tub. And he didn’t even _care_ that Spongebob, colored blank by his ink, was nuzzling - and likely permanently staining - his plush, white bathrobe because _Spongebob was holding him_ and that was all that mattered.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he heard Spongebob say, as he squeezed him even tighter. Squidward returned the embrace, desperately trying to quash the _“how you could have doubted Spongebob?”_ feelings and focused instead on how soft Spongebob’s skin was, and how _happy_ he was in that moment to have someone who actually _cared_ about him.

“Yeah,” Squidward said, stroking Spongebob’s sides. “I’m okay.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” _Did_ he want to talk about it? He would have to _eventually_ , Squidward reasoned.

Now was probably the best time - he was going to be open - he was going to communicate - even if it killed him, which it very well might.

Squidward and Spongebob went to get more lemonade.


	4. Refreshments (Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude: Spongebob and Squidward receive a surprises on their birthdays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is kind of different in that I was writing it with the next chapter, but it was just getting too long. So I thought I'd give you some fluff/slight plot until I finished the next big plot chapter! I hope you enjoy~!
> 
> Also I know Squidward's birthday is not canonically on the 9th of October, but it fit with the scheme of what I'm trying to do.

That evening (once Spongebob had been sufficiently wrung out,) Squidward and Spongebob took to the couch. Over a new pitcher of lavender lemonade, they talked about new feelings as well as the insecurities that came with them - Squidward tried his best to explain the basis of his breakdown; he struggled to pinpoint how all of these positive, exciting emotions had triggered such a strong wave of self-doubt, how, in a moment, he felt like he didn't  _ deserve _ Spongebob, nor had he deserved the company of anyone else, and as much as he  _ wanted _ to take their relationship to a physical level, something was stopping him - something that, when challenged, only caused him to break down. 

Of course, Spongebob was as supportive as ever - he listened patiently to Squidward's words, reassuring him that, of  _ course _ he deserved to have someone in his life, and that, of  _ course _ he shared Squidward's feelings. He didn't dig or pry - Spongebob made no attempt to get to the bottom of  _ why _ or  _ what _ caused Squidward to feel that way, instead simply offering his support. They would take things slow - they would backtrack if they had to - whatever it took.

* * *

 

Days came and went - work days, date nights, and special events such as birthdays. Spongebob's birthday came soonest, in July - contrary to Squidward's preconceptions of Spongebob, his boyfriend had only wanted a small, intimate gathering of his closest friends, as previous attempts at big parties had not gone well, to put it lightly. A specific instance of Spongebob being locked out of his own house, later arrested for breaking and entering, came to mind.

It was a pleasant party, for sure - Sandy, Patrick, and even Mr. Krabs and Pearl were present, milling around Spongebob’s living room and picking at snacks while making general conversation. The event was intended to be short - it  _ was _ a weeknight, after all - and was centered around coffee and dessert. Squidward had supplied a simple yellow cake with deep blue-colored whipped cream icing (as Squidward felt buttercream frosting was a bit too cloying) and rainbow sprinkles baked in, at Spongebob's request. Squidward felt, personally, that his boyfriend (of now three months) deserved something a bit more lavish, but if it was what Spongebob wanted, then he'd make the  _ best _ darn confetti cake that ever existed in the entire ocean. 

He had arrived a bit early so he could prepare the candles - earlier that day, Squidward had spent a good ten minutes deliberating at Bargain Mart, deciding between either twenty-eight individual candles or the easier option of number-shaped candles, before he reasoned that more candles meant more spectacle, which was  _ definitely  _ more “Spongebob”, and made his purchase.

Now, he stood at Spongebob's kitchen counter as Spongebob greeted his guests, providing them with refreshments as they all piled into his living room. 

Unfortunately, strategically arranging birthday candles was a lot more difficult than initially anticipated.  It had to be  _ perfect  _ \- Squidward couldn't experiment with the candles to find a pattern he liked, because he'd ruin the icing if he made a mistake. 

“Squidward!” Spongebob's voice floated into the kitchen from the living room over the upbeat music. “We're about to sit down for dessert - everything all right in there, hon?” 

“You can't rush  _ art! _ ” Squidward called, ignoring the way his voice wavered at the term of endearment - his tentacle, holding the first of many candles, still hovered over the cake. He sighed - he'd have to settle on a regular old circle - and carefully spaced each one an equal distance from each other around the circumference of the cake. He placed the last - a longer, sparkly, red candle - squarely in the center before rummaging through Spongebob’s utility drawer for a lighter. He grasped for a skinny lighter with a trigger as the clamor from the living room rose in volume.

“Mr. Squidward, if you keep messin’ around with those candles, you’ll be on restroom duty for a month! Including on yer days off!”

Frantically striking the lighter, Squidward yelled over his shoulder. “I’m lighting them  _ right now _ , Mr. Krabs!” A flame popped from the spout next to Squidward’s face, giving him a scare.

“Turn the lights off!” came Sandy's drawl as Squidward painstakingly lit the candles - all but the one in the center. Gingerly lifting the cake in both tentacles with the lighter and a cake server tucked underneath, Squidward stepped out into the dark living room, his cake the only source of light in the entire space. Clearing his throat to gain the attention of the party guests, he softly hummed a familiar birthday tune as he confidently strode in with Spongebob’s birthday cake. Voices joined in, one by one (even Gary meowed along,) until all but Spongebob sang with confidence - even if Patrick couldn’t remember the words. Placing the cake on the table before the object of his affection, Squidward beamed as Spongebob gaped at the confection in front of him.

“Oh,  _ Squidward, honey, _ ” he gasped, his eyes wide and glittering with reflected firelight. Squidward felt his chest swell at his name being spoken with such reverence. “It’s  _ beautiful! _ ” 

“Ah-ah-ah,” said Squidward, holding up the lighter. “It’s not ready yet!” Clicking the lighter’s trigger until another flame appeared, Squidward lit the final candle. Backing away from the cake, Squidward gave Spongebob a quick peck on the cheek before giving him room to blow out his candles, a gesture that was met with a few taunting ‘ooooh’s - being affectionate toward Spongebob in front of other people was getting easier and easier, but Squidward still felt heat rise in his cheeks that definitely wasn’t due to his proximity to the candles.

After snapping a photo for posterity with his shell phone - a rather nicely-composed one, Squidward mused - Spongebob inhaled so deeply that he stretched the dimensions of his body. In one breath, he extinguished all twenty-eight candles on the cake. Everyone in the room applauded as Sandy hurried over to turn the lights back on. Spongebob began to remove the candles, when, suddenly, one candle burst back to life - the tall, red candle in the center glowed with a soft light once more after a soft  _ pop. _

Spongebob jumped at the sudden spark with a yelp before squinting at the suspicious candle. Inhaling deeply again, he blew out the flame, only to have it reappear after a few short seconds. There were a few titters from around the table as Spongebob huffed and puffed at this single, red candle to no avail. Squidward found himself concealing a particularly incriminating grin with a tentacle as he snickered at Spongebob's progressively exasperated expression. 

“Squidward, this isn't  _ funny!”  _ Spongebob whined, taking time to breathe between attempts - his pores sputtered with each breath. Squidward reached over and plucked the candle from the cake, still burning in his tentacle.

“Oh, calm down,” he chided, waving the lit candle around. “No one’s ever used a trick candle on you?” Spongebob frowned up at him with big, sad eyes, but the exaggerated face let Squidward know that he wasn’t  _ actually _ upset. 

“No,” he said, his bottom lip jutting out just slightly, scraped by his buck teeth. His somber expression softened though, almost instantaneously, before he started to giggle in his trademark fashion. “But it’s a pretty good prank! Soon you’ll be as good as pranks as I am!” Spongebob closed his eyes and set his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest.

Squidward smiled, giving him a pat on the head before turning to walk back towards the kitchen. 

“Oh, I’m  _ sure, _ ” he called over his shoulder. “Now cut your cake, Mr.  _ Bikini Bottom Ghost.  _ These people want to go  _ home. _ ” He heard a few laughs from the living room as he ran water over the candle’s wick, extinguishing it for good, before he tossed it in the trash. 

After dessert, Spongebob’s houseguests extended their well wishes and departed for home, until only he, Gary, and Squidward remained in his pineapple - Squidward wrapped up the leftover cake in cling wrap, tucking it into the refrigerator while Spongebob tidied up the living room and cleaned the dishes. Once everything was squared away and cleaned up, Squidward took Spongebob by the arm, escorting him to his own house - he had prepared a gift for Spongebob, and, as Spongebob had made a point of “no presents,” Squidward didn’t want to show anyone up.

At least, that’s what he told Spongebob - there was a particular element to his gift that, if presented at Spongebob’s house, would defeat the purpose of Squidward’s plan in its entirety.

“Squidward, I already  _ told _ you!” Spongebob groused, pouting as they walked along the street between their houses. “You didn’t have to buy me anything!” The natural light of the setting sun was fading, providing a rosy backdrop for their stroll down the street - the low buzz of passing jellyfish provided ambiance as they walked along the pavement. 

Somehow, Spongebob’s bellyaching didn’t impede his pace in any way - he was doing a bad job at hiding his excitement, and as they  moved along his front walkway, Squidward didn’t doubt for a second that Spongebob was actually eager to receive a gift,  _ especially _ if it was from Squidward. 

Arriving at the front door, Squidward unlocked it and held it open, leading Spongebob inside. 

“Who said I  _ bought _ you anything?” said Squidward, watching as Spongebob kicked off his shoes. He crossed his arms, peering down his nose at Spongebob’s failure of an attempt at a frown. Spongebob’s eyes betrayed him as they glimmered, much like they did as he admired his birthday cake, but now with utter  _ excitement  _ at the mystery of Squidward’s gift. 

“I  _ just _ so happened to  _ make _ you something,” Squidward continued, proudly pressing a tentacle to his chest. “But,” an Squidward was the one frowning now, eyeing his boyfriend with mock disappointment, an overly forlorn tone to his voice. “If you really  _ don’t _ want it…”

Spongebob’s facade was instantly shattered - next he knew, Spongebob had Squidward by the shoulders, shaking him as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet with accompanying rapid squeaks. 

“ _ What-is-it-what-is-it-what-is-it?! _ ” he babbled, pressing his forehead to Squidward’s. Squidward’s expression was unperturbed as he simply picked him up, peeled him off of his shirt, and gently set him down. 

“I’ll  _ show _ you if you’d just walk with me,” Squidward said, eyes half-lidded - a wry smirk graced his face as he held out a tentacle. 

Spongebob took it like it was the only morsel of food in a three-mile radius. 

Regardless of how tightly Spongebob gripped at him, Squidward calmly,  _ slowly _ led him up the stairwell - past his bedroom - all the way up to his studio. He could tell that their leisurely pace was utter torture to Spongebob, who kept trying to walk just a  _ little _ bit ahead of Squidward - but he wouldn’t budge. Seeing Spongebob so excited over something that Squidward had made was so endearing and enjoyable that Squidward couldn’t help but savor it. Without turning on the lights, they stopped at the threshold - the curtains that hung on the studio’s only window were drawn. Darkness flooded the space before them, and, instinctively,  Spongebob made a motion for the light switch - Squidward caught his hand in his free tentacle.

“Stay right here,” he whispered, before letting go of Spongebob’s hand. Squidward slipped silently forward, the soft sound of his suction cups on the hardwood popping floating high in the water around him. There was a rustling sound as he got everything together, accompanied by the soft scrape of wood on wood, before he finally spoke from the center of the room.

“All right,” he said, his voice low, before  he inhaled deeply. “Turn on the light.”

There was a slight pause before Spongebob flipped the switch - and his jaw dropped clear to the floor. Standing on an easel, in the exact center of the studio, was a painting that Spongebob had never seen before. But it wasn’t just  _ any  _ painting. 

This was a painting of  _ Spongebob. _

Squidward watched from the side of the room and smiled as Spongebob slowly stepped forward, his hands clapped over his own mouth - he could have sworn he saw Spongebob's legs wobble as he took each step, his arms beginning to shake, as well. The energy was practically contagious as Squidward felt his own heart fluttering in his chest as Spongebob surveyed the product of his hard work.

The painting was definitely one of his best, if not his  _ absolute best _ , depicting Spongebob in a serene, almost cherubic pose, his arms outstretched as he lay adrift among a loose spiral of pink and purple jellyfish. The colors were vibrant, all centered around the single hue he had struggled to capture when Spongebob had modeled for him - the warm tones really brought out the sunniness of Spongebob's complexion, from the yellow of his body to the ruddy blush painted on his freckled cheeks. While Squidward would have liked to incorporate the blue of his eyes for an extra pop of contrast, it wouldn't have worked with the pose, and so he snuck a single blue jellyfish in one of the corners.

This depiction of Spongebob also happened to be completely naked, unlike the model upon whom it was based -  Squidward, if questioned, had prepared several arguments as to how this was the best artistic decision (even if some of those arguments were a bit  _ selfish. _ ) 

Spongebob had stopped walking now, standing a few feet in front of his portrait - his eyes were wide, and his hands hadn't left their place at his mouth. If Squidward couldn’t see the minute changes in the width of his pores, he would swear that Spongebob had stopped breathing altogether. Squidward calmly,  _ confidently, _ strode from his spot at the side of the room to meet him, wrapping a tentacle around Spongebob's shoulder. The touch didn't so much as startle Spongebob as launch him back to the present - he turned and embraced Squidward in an instant, nuzzling his face into his chest. Squidward felt the dampness of absorbed tears on his skin, but chose not to raise a point about it - especially not on Spongebob’s birthday.

“Squidward,” he whispered into Squidward's shirt. “It’s... it's amazing. It's  _ beautiful,  _ it’s…”

Squidward chuckled to himself and stroked the top of Spongebob's head. “Yeah, It's not bad - but that's only the  _ first  _ part of the gift.” 

Spongebob looked up from Squidward's torso. “There's more…?” His eyes had that glimmer again, and it could only make Squidward smile. 

“Mmhm,” Squidward droned, easily slipping from Spongebob’s embrace. He turned to the painting and lifted it off the easel. “We're going to hang this up.”

Spongebob gasped - a soft, almost whisper of a noise - his eyes wide as he realized just what Squidward meant. “You don't mean…?” 

“Follow me,” was all Squidward said, calling behind him as he plodded ahead with his newest work of art. Spongebob zipped forward to follow behind him, trailing by what seemed like mere inches as Squidward carefully descended the staircase to the first floor of his house. 

Squidward led Spongebob through to the parlor - regrettably, there was no fire in the fireplace, as it was July, but there was still a warmth to the room that Spongebob's presence could only provide. Still holding the painting in his arms, Squidward used the canvas to gesture towards his arm chair - Spongebob quickly scuttled to it and sat, practically vibrating in the seat as Squidward stood by the fireplace. 

“All right, Sponge,” Squidward said,  _ immensely _ enjoying the way Spongebob's massive grin only spread wider as he spoke. “You’ve got the best seat in the house - where should we put this?”  

Spongebob's face fell slightly, his head cocked to the side. “You mean you didn't clear a space for it?”

“Nope. Wherever you put this, I'll take something down - I'll rearrange my stuff - it doesn't matter one bit.” Squidward set the painting down to rest against his legs. “It is  _ your  _ birthday, after all - not to mention, I'm pretty proud of this piece! I'd be glad to have it anywhere.” 

Spongebob smiled as he deliberated, and Squidward could see on his face that Spongebob understood just  _ how _ big of a deal this all was - Squidward painting something that wasn't himself; finishing something that wasn't a self-portrait; hanging that piece up in his  _ home _ \- in his  _ parlor _ of all places - and all of this being about  _ Spongebob. _ Squidward felt a slight tremor in his own legs at the realization that Spongebob had become so important to him, but it wasn’t a negative feeling in the slightest - in fact, it bordered on exhilaration.

“Well, how about right there? Above the fireplace?” Spongebob pointed to the spot, centered just above the mantle, currently housing a trio of smaller pop art paintings featuring Squidward in different, expressive poses. 

Squidward looked up at Spongebob's choice, rubbing his tentacle on his chin. Putting a larger piece there would make it the focal point of the room - as it was so different from everything around it - and the warm light of a lit fireplace would highlight its features. And yet, instead of dreading the thought of shifting the entire focus of his self-portrait collection to a painting of Spongebob, he felt another rush of adrenaline at the idea of showing off  _ just _ how important Spongebob was to him.

“ _ Excellent _ choice,” he said, setting the painting against the wall as he dashed for the closet. “I'll get a ladder and we'll have it up there in a jiffy.”

After some careful rearranging (several paintings ended up having to be moved to accommodate the larger piece,) Spongebob's portrait now sat proudly above the fireplace. Squidward hopped off the ladder and sauntered over to stand behind Spongebob’s chair, admiring his handiwork. He smiled calmly as Spongebob took his tentacle in his hand, kneading the soft skin between his suction cups with his thumb. 

“So…?” Squidward looked down to Spongebob as he asked his opinion - Spongebob could only stare ahead at his portrait, his lips parted. Still holding Spongebob’s hand, he circled around to the front of the armchair and knelt, lowering himself to Spongebob’s eye level. He managed to earn Spongebob’s attention - his eyes flitted from their resting place to meet Squidward’s gaze, and a soft smile made its way across his face. 

“What do you think?” Squidward’s voice was low in the quiet darkness of his parlor, the sun having long set outside. A floor lamp was the only light in the room - its warm light reflected in Spongebob’s large, round eyes, which prompted a soft smile from Squidward. “I, uh…” The look in Spongebob’s eyes made it difficult for Squidward to choose his words; those blue eyes could be positively  _ deadly _ , and Spongebob didn’t even know it! 

“I hope you had a happy birthday...is what I...guess I’m trying to say.” Squidward’s eyes moved downward, to Spongebob’s hands, and he took them in a vain attempt at distracting himself from his embarrassment. As he poked at Spongebob’s palms, he felt the soft touch of Spongebob’s lips on the top of his head. 

“Oh, Squidward…” Spongebob said, without pulling away - Squidward reeled slightly, his neck craning to look up into Spongebob’s eyes. He was grinning, as usual, but there was a tenderness that colored his expression, much like the light of the floor lamp colored his face with its warm, yellow light - not that Spongebob needed to be a deeper shade of yellow. He took his hands from Squidward’s and cupped his face, thumbs stroking circles over Squidward’s temples - Squidward felt himself leaning into the touch, his eyelids drooping. A soft hum buzzed in his throat as he rolled his head to the side, resting his cheek on Spongebob’s knee.

“...you are the  _ sweetest _ , most  _ thoughtful _ boyfriend anyone could ask for.” Squidward smiled as Spongebob continued to pet him, and his eyes fell shut - he could very easily fall asleep like this if he wasn’t careful, and despite how comfortable it was in the moment, Squidward knew it wouldn’t be good for his back.

“You forgot ‘most handsome,’” he said with a smirk, peeking up at Spongebob with one eye. Spongebob laughed that soft laugh - the laugh that  _ belonged _ to Squidward.

“Of course,” he murmured.

* * *

 

When Squidward’s own birthday had rolled around, Bikini Bottom had already begun to cool down from the summer heat. Autumn was in already in full swing as October made itself known, and despite the pleasantly mild weather and harvest-related festivities, Squidward was especially loathe to even acknowledge the passage of time when it came to his birthday. After he had turned thirty, deep-seated feelings of inadequacy would rear their ugly heads on the regular, as Squidward, like many others, had used the milestone as a sort of litmus for his success. By thirty, Squidward still had yet to make a name for himself in any of his creative pursuits, and with each added year, the feelings only grew worse. Squidward’s way of staving off the birthday blues was to act as if the ninth of October was a perfectly normal, ordinary day. 

Spongebob was not particularly skilled at maintaining this charade. By the time he left for work, Squidward already had to field several overly-enthusiastic text messages - at the Krusty Krab, Spongebob was hardly the picture of subtlety, even going to far as to loudly hum a birthday tune from behind the kitchen window. Squidward could only sweat at his place at the register, grinding his teeth as he hoped with all of his might that no one would catch on and ask him how old he was. 

“I don’t get it, Squidward,” Spongebob said, walking backwards ahead of Squidward as they began their trek to Conch Street. “You’re only turning thirty-three. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to be famous! For now, just focus on having fun!” 

Squidward glowered at Spongebob, squeezing the life out of his Krusty Krab hat in his right tentacle.

“What’s so  _ fun _ about wasting more and more of my life away as a fast food cashier?!” He threw his hat on the ground and stepped on it, grinding it into the pavement - an act which, under any other circumstance, would case Spongebob a great amount of distress. This time, however, Spongebob could only smile, his expression coy and his eyes half-lidded - he saw right through Squidward’s irritability. 

“Well,” he began, lifting Squidward’s foot from the asphalt and rescuing his hat, brushing the dust off against his pants. He handed it back to Squidward with a grin, and Squidward swiped it from his hand. “You get to work with your favorite boyfriend!” 

Squidward grumbled to himself at Spongebob’s unyielding optimism. With a scoff, he rolled his eyes at him and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I  _ guess. _ ” 

They continued on their walk, taking in the changing colors of the scenery as the currents that flowed through Bikini Bottom grew cooler. Coral trees grew a deep shade of purple, and the occasional scarlet kelp leaf fluttered by. 

“I just thought I’d  _ be _ somebody by now,” Squidward said as they approached their home street - skipping Spongebob’s pineapple, the two made their way over to Squidward’s house instead, as it was a Tuesday, and Tuesday night was  _ Bikini Bottom Bake Off _ night. While Squidward unlocked his front door, Spongebob collected Squidward’s mail.

“You  _ are  _ somebody, Squidward!” Spongebob called from the mailbox, gathering what appeared to be several bills and assorted pieces of junk mail. He sorted through the articles as he carefully stepped across the planks of Squidward’s walkway. Squidward held the door for him as he entered the house, handing him the stack of mail. 

“You just so happen to be a very talented, funny, handsome octopus,” Spongebob said triumphantly, his eyes closed and his hands on his hips. “And, of course, my super-cute-and-cuddly boyfriend.” He punctuated his praise with a series of air kisses.

Squidward made a noise of mock disgust as he unceremoniously plopped himself onto the couch - reaching for the remote, he flipped through channel after channel as he spread out the mail across his coffee table. 

“I can’t wait for Cindy to get kicked off this week,” Squidward muttered as he went over each individual envelope, determining which were even worth being opened. “All she needs to do is pull another stunt like last week’s meringue fiasco, and it’s curtains - and then I won’t have to hear her insipid driveling until at least the finale.”

There was a gasp from the kitchen as Spongebob rifled through the refrigerator for some half-and-half - he was making coffee to accompany the night’s entertainment with the French press, now that he was confident in how to use it. 

“You leave Cindy alone!” Spongebob pouted, eyeing the egg timer as it ticked away. “She’s done nothing wrong and you know it! She’s only trying her best!”

Still reading through the mail, Squidward stopped his channel surfing at the shrill sound of Sheila Tang’s English accent, signaling his arrival at the correct station. He set the remote down with one tentacle as the other made a neat stack of junk - among the pile of envelopes sat several take-out menus, credit card registration fliers, and a coupon for some sort of sea-snake-oil-esque scam involving hair tonic, which was promptly crumpled up and tossed aside - how did those people even get his address, anyway? Spongebob never mentioned getting anything like that, and he didn’t have hair, either. Then again, he did have that special comb…

As if sensing his presence in Squidward’s thoughts, Spongebob appeared by Squidward’s side, reaching across him to set his coffee cup on a coaster. Squidward mumbled a passing “thank you” before handing Spongebob the stack of junk mail. 

“Toss these in the recycling for me, would ya, Sponge?” 

“Sure thing!” After a quick peck to Squidward’s forehead, Spongebob took the mail in his hand and made for the recycling bin that Squidward kept by the door. Finally shifting his full attention to the television, Squidward sipped at his cup of coffee as the  _ Bikini Bottom Bake Off’s _ eight remaining contestants were being tasked with the creation of a two-tier cake, complete with elaborate decorations. Squidward smirked devilishly as Cindy immediately found herself overwhelmed - it would appear that she had been too ambitious with her planning, and she was struggling to get her station in order. 

There was a slight shift beneath him as Squidward felt Spongebob hop onto the other side of the sofa - his view of the television was soon obstructed with an envelope, which Spongebob was waving in front of his face. Squidward shooed Spongebob’s hand out of the way with a tentacle - luckily, the program had just gone to commercial. 

“Spongebob!” he said, turning in his seat. “Don’t wave garbage in my face like that! I thought I asked you to recycle the junk mail.”

Spongebob folded his legs underneath him, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He took a sip from his own cup of coffee, extending the pointer finger of his other, occupied hand, as if to signal that the thought on his tongue was being blocked by a coffee mug. Squidward’s eyebrows rose, his eyelids drooping as he waited for Spongebob to elaborate.

“I did, Squidward,” he said, licking his lips to clear a stray drop of heavily-doctored coffee. “But  _ this _ letter looks important! The address is hand-written and everything!” He handed the envelope to Squidward with his usual cheery smile. Taking the envelope from Spongebob’s hand, Squidward turned it over a few times in his tentacle - it  _ was _ a pretty fancy letter - it was even sealed with a wax stamp on the back. 

A very... _ familiar _ -looking wax stamp. And...was that a  _ unibrow? _

No. It couldn’t be. He must have imagined it - the shape on the red seal could have just as easily been a crack in the wax.

Squidward flipped the envelope over and checked the address - the return address was, bizarrely enough, listed under Coral City High School, his alma mater, but, as Spongebob had said, all of the print on the front of the letter was handwritten - highly unusual for a donation-scrounging letter akin to what they sent on an annual basis. His graduating class was so large that they couldn’t possibly afford to have someone hand write all of the addresses. 

Right?

_ Bikini Bottom Bake Off _ had returned from its commercial break, but despite his earlier fixation on the TV, Squidward’s attention was now on the envelope in his hands. Spongebob was nestled next to him, taking the occasional drink from his mug, as well as making passing remarks about the contestants’ work; how tasty it looked; how pretty the decorations were; Squidward could hear him, but only made passive grunts in non-committal agreement as he carefully opened the envelope and removed its contents.

Inside was a tri-folded piece of plain, white printer paper - in fact, the entirety of the letter in his tentacles seemed as though it had been printed from a computer, which was even  _ stranger, _ considering the lengths to which the sender had gone to make the envelope look important. It read:

“The Coral City High School Class of-” Squidward averted his eyes from the date so as to keep himself from having another age-related depression spiral. Steeling himself, he read onward.

“-invites you to join us in celebrating our 15 year reunion! Come and see all of your old friends at Coral City High School-” The corresponding address was listed below - Squidward rolled his eyes. “Old friends?” He didn’t have any friends from that cesspool of a learning establishment. Beneath the address was the date of the event, which was near the end of November - probably situated as such to correspond with the holidays. 

Squidward moved to set the invitation aside with a sigh - he didn’t go to the 10-year reunion, so there was an even slimmer chance of him attending this one. As he placed it on the coffee table, however, he spotted ink on the other side of the paper - pen ink. Snatching it up, he read the handwritten message to himself, almost mouthing the words.

_ “Hope you can make some room in your  _ **_busy_ ** _ cashiering schedule to come by, Squiddy! Missed you at the last one!” _

He felt heat rising in his face as he whipped the paper over in his tentacle - there, at the bottom of the page, read:

“To RSVP, please contact Squilliam Fancyson, Class President, Head of the Coral City High School Yearbook Committee, Drum Major and  _ Very _ Successful Entrepreneur.”

Gritting his teeth, Squidward growled and crumpled the invitation into quite possibly the smallest ball he’d ever made of a piece of paper, and tossed it over his shoulder - it landed behind the couch with a soft crinkle. 

The  _ nerve _ of that son of a sea dog… it was obvious to Squidward that this invitation was supposed to be an e-mail, and stupid, conniving Squilliam had the  _ gall _ to send it to his house, in an  _ obnoxiously  _ sealed envelope, with a positively  _ ludicrous _ , handwritten message on the back! And if Squidward was to hazard a guess based on just  _ what _ he knew about Squilliam Fancyson, he’d have assumed that he timed the arrival of the invitation to fall on his birthday, just to get his guppy!

...which he  _ definitely _ wasn’t doing right now!

Alerted by the sudden motion, Spongebob gave Squidward a concerned look, his usual wide grin shrinking into a small, quiet frown. 

“Squidward, are you okay?” Squidward jumped as Spongebob’s hand made contact with his knee. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to see Cindy lose! She’s tanking, and I haven’t heard you make fun of her once!” He gave Squidward an awkward smile in an attempt to soothe him - he must have looked angrier than he had wanted to let on. Squidward huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he sank down further into the couch. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just stupid Squilliam being… _ Squilliam. _ ” Spongebob’s expression evaporated, his eyebrows rising as his eyes bulged. 

“Squilliam?” In one swift motion, Spongebob dove over the back of the couch to retrieve the discarded invitation, carefully unfolding the paper. There was a pause as Spongebob read the letter before he clambered back up over the back to where he was recently sitting. Squidward eyed him with exasperation - the least Spongebob could do when Squidward faced harassment from his arch-rival was use the couch like a normal person. 

Still clutching the invitation in his hands, Spongebob studied it as if it was some sort of ancient tome. 

“Oh right,” he murmured, eyes still poring over the letter. “You two went to high school together...” His brows furrowed as he noticed the message on the back of the invitation - it was an expression that Squidward noted as unusual for Spongebob. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed - it was almost  _ catty _ . 

“Well,” Spongebob said finally, his eyes falling closed as he set the letter aside. Now  _ he _ was the one crossing his arms, his chest - or what he had of one - puffing forward. “We’ll just have to show  _ Squilliam _ how great things are for you when we go to your reunion.”

Go to the reunion? Squidward was  _ not _ going to the reunion. 

“I am  _ not _ going to the reunion, Spongebob,” Squidward said, his eyes returning to the TV. Cindy was a mess - she hadn’t even taken her cake out of the oven yet, and she only had twenty minutes left to finish! This was going to be good….

His enjoyment at Cindy’s expense was interrupted when Spongebob wiggled his head under Squidward’s arms, staring up at him from his lap with widened eyes. 

“What?” said Squidward, bumping Spongebob up and down with his knees. “I didn’t go to the last one - they shouldn’t expect me at this one, either.” 

Spongebob continued to pout at him, looking particularly pathetic on Squidward’s lap as he was jostled back and forth, but Squidward wouldn’t budge. 

“Besides,” Squidward continued, folding his arms behind his head as he watched Cindy pull a gloopy, not-even _ -close _ -to-finished cake out of the oven, tears streaming down her face. “High school reunions are just opportunities for successful people to show off, and for people like us to feel sorry for ourselves - and if Squilliam’s in charge of the event, you know he’s going to make an example out of  _ me _ just to make himself look better. I’m saving us both - but especially myself - a lot of embarrassment."

“But Squidwa-a-a-rd,” Spongebob whined, kicking his socked feet against the sofa cushions. “It could be  _ fun _ ! We could dress up, and you can show me your school - like the cafeteria, and the classrooms, and the water fountains, and the-”

“It’s a  _ school,  _ Spongebob. It’s the same as any other!” Squidward poked Spongebob’s cheek with his tentacle, causing him to close his adjacent eye in reflex. “Besides, what’s dressing up gonna do? Squilliam knows I’m a cashier - no matter what I wear, all he’s gonna see is my Krusty Krab uniform.” 

Spongebob raised an eyebrow, maintaining his frown despite Squidward’s prodding. 

“Well, what does it matter what Squilliam sees? There’ll be lots of other people there, right?” Squidward gnawed at his bottom lip - Spongebob had a point, but still…

“Well, yeah.” Squidward sighed. “But he’s got everyone there under some sort of… I don’t know. Everyone likes Squilliam, for some reason or another; he’s got money; he’s got charisma. They’ll do whatever he wants just to be even the slightest bit close to that…  _ smog _ he gives off.”

Spongebob reached his arms up from his spot on Squidward’s lap, his hands folding behind Squidward’s neck. He pulled himself up so that he was now in a sitting position, and pressed a firm kiss to Squidward’s cheek. Despite his best efforts to maintain his melodramatic composure, Squidward couldn’t help but crack a smile as Spongebob snuggled up against him. 

“That’s okay, Squidward!” Spongebob pulled away with his trademark grin. “Squilliam might have all of that stuff, sure - but  _ you’ve _ got something the he doesn’t!”

Squidward blinked. What did someone like  _ him  _ have over the octopus who had everything? 

“I  _ do? _ ” 

Spongebob’s expression flipped to one that was deadpan, his eyes half-lidded as he frowned. 

“...yeah.” There were a good few seconds of silence between them as the gears chugged forward in Squidward’s head. Just what was Spongebob getting at…?

Oh! 

_ Duh. _

Squidward set his tentacles on Spongebob’s hips, trying not to focus on just how  _ perfectly _ they fit there, and gave him a sheepish grin.

“I...have you!”

_ “-you have me! _ ” Spongebob cheered, his voice overlapping with Squidward’s as he beamed. He pulled Squidward close into a tight embrace, which Squidward could only return. 

“I’ll be your wingman,” he said, grabbing Squidward’s shoulders. “Your ‘plus one’ - your  _ arm candy. _ ” He leaned back over Squidward’s arms, striking a particularly debonair pose, before springing back up to look Squidward in the eyes, a grin that was almost feral with excitement plastered across his face. “Ooh, when Squilliam sees how happy we are together, he’ll be  _ crazy _ with - ooh! Ooh! I forgot! I have a present for you that’ll be perfect for this!”

“You brought presents…?” Squidward asked, more to himself than to Spongebob, as the space on his lap was now empty. Spongebob had made for the kitchen table, and jogged back to the couch with two gifts - the first, a flat, narrow box clad in a curly red bow, was handed to Squidward from across the coffee table before Spongebob sat back in his seat, eagerly bouncing up and down. 

“Of  _ course _ I brought presents! It’s your birthday - and I don’t  _ care _ who knows it,” he held up a finger to halt any complaints. “Because you’re a wonderful boyfriend, and you’re talented, and handsome, and  _ dear-Neptune-just-open-the-box-I’m-so-excited!”   _

Squidward held up his tentacles - as if to somehow reign Spongebob in - before he worked on tearing the box free from its wrapping. Spongebob didn’t seem to notice, as he continue to babble away.

“Okay, so this isn’t like, the  _ major _ gift, but I saw it downtown the other day and I thought, ‘Hey, doesn’t Squidward look absolutely  _ great _ in a blazer when we go to fancy restaurants?’ and so I got this because I thought it’d go really, really well with that navy one you like, and I dunno, maybe a button-down-”

Squidward popped the sleek, shiny box open to reveal a necktie - it was very thin, which was a very modern look. Its navy background was interspersed with bright, pink pops of vibrant flowers, which bloomed in selective areas of the tie as opposed to a repeating pattern. It was actually… really sharp. Spongebob had a weirdly good eye for fashion that he didn’t apply to himself nearly as often as he could have.

“Oh! Wait, I forgot the accessory!” Spongebob’s voice snapped Squidward’s attention up from his gift. Spongebob dug his hands into his pockets, patting all over his body, before he produced a small, golden tie bar. He reached into the box and clipped it onto the necktie to complete the package - upon further inspection, Squidward noticed that it was shaped like a miniature pineapple. 

“There! Now when people ask where your boyfriend lives, you can just point at your tie! You can wear this to the reunion and you’ll look like a million bucks!”

Squidward stared down at the tie - it was a strange gift, definitely, but… it was incredibly thoughtful. It was  _ beautiful  _ \- the fabric felt a lot more luxurious than any of Spongebob’s red ties _. _ It was very ‘Spongebob’ - it was a gift that showcased how much Spongebob thought of Squidward - and of his  _ appearance, _ which definitely had Squidward feeling a little warm. 

_ So, he thinks I look good in a suit, huh...? _

He looked up at Spongebob, who had his hands clasped at his chest, wearing a toothy grin that he could barely contain. 

“S-sponge,” Squidward began, his throat suddenly very dry. “You didn’t have to-”

“-up-up!” said Spongebob, touching his index finger to Squidward’s lips. Squidward shrank back at the contact, but he allowed Spongebob to continue. “-you still have to open your  _ other _ gift!” He pulled a square-shaped gift out from behind him, wrapped in the same shiny paper as Squidward’s new tie. 

Squidward set the tie on the coffee table and took the second package from Spongebob’s hands. Carefully removing the paper this time, Squidward’s eyes widened as the present’s identity was revealed to him.

It was a scrapbook - it screamed ‘homemade,’ decorated with things like cute, little paper cutouts of himself and Spongebob, a ton of heart-shaped stickers - as well as stickers of every conceivable shape and size, many of which were holographic. Squidward looked up at Spongebob, who was biting at his bottom lip - he smiled and gestured with his hand, beckoning him to open the book as he wiggled back and forth in his seat. 

Squidward flipped the front cover over, careful not to let any stickers potentially break free, to view the title page. In big, colorful, letter-shaped stickers, the first page of the scrapbook proudly read “Squidward and Spongebob.” There was a picture beneath the words: a selfie that Spongebob had taken of the two of them on a date at the park. The Spongebob in the photo seemed happy as always, and Squidward, while he seemed surprised at having his picture taken, had his lips upturned, as well. 

As he turned through each page, he soaked in Spongebob’s incredible attention to detail. He had created layouts pertaining to different dates they had gone on, as well as different general themes; there were several pages dedicated to Squidward’s artistic pursuits, featuring candid snapshots of him painting, action shots of him dancing, and even snippets of his original compositions; a chapter based around food was comprised of Spongebob’s many artistic photos of Squidward’s cooking, as well as shots of food the two would order at restaurants. 

As Squidward traced the edge of a photo - one of Spongebob facing the camera as Squidward putzed around in the background - with the tip of his tentacle, Spongebob’s little yellow hand came into view, fingers almost walking across the colorful paper. He took Squidward’s tentacle, stroking it with his thumb as Squidward looked up to meet his gaze. 

“Did you notice anything special about any of the pictures?” Spongebob’s smile was soft and gentle as he continued to trace along Squidward’s tentacle. 

“Um,” began Squidward, flipping back and forth through the pages to find a common link between any of the photos in the book. “...you took them all with your phone?”

“Well, yeah,” said Spongebob, rolling his eyes. “But that’s not what I mean!” He turned the pages himself now, pointing at different pictures of Squidward. There was one of him at his cashier counter, reading a magazine, and another of him whisking eggs in his kitchen. 

“I’m… involved with food in some way?” Spongebob looked up at him with the same deadpan expression he wore earlier, which quickly melted into a warm smile. 

“No, silly.” Spongebob pointed specifically to Squidward’s face in the photo of him in the kitchen. 

“You’re smiling! See?” He was right - the Squidward in the picture had a small smirk across his face as he worked, as did the Squidward reading at the Krusty Krab, lost in thought while wearing a different, more passive smile. 

In fact, in every picture of Squidward in the book, he was smiling - he was especially surprised to see himself with a happier face at work of all places. Maybe that was just the effect Spongebob was having on him. 

Having reached the end of the book - or rather, the end of the completed pages, as there were plenty of blank pages available to be filled as time went on - Spongebob closed it, taking Squidward’s tentacles in his hands. 

“I wanted you to be able to see yourself happy - like how  _ I _ see you, Squidward,” he said, looking up at Squidward with eyes that Squidward could have  _ sworn _ were teary. “So when you aren’t so happy, you can remember things that make you happy.” 

“Spongebob,” Squidward started, his voice shaky.  _ No, Squidward, don’t cry - not on your birthday! _ He inhaled in an effort to maintain his composure. “I… I don’t know what to say - this is so…” The words were right there on his tongue - it was  _ thoughtful;  _ it was  _ sweet; _ it was such a grand gesture that he couldn’t possibly articulate how much he appreciated such a gift. 

Spongebob leaned forward and softly kissed Squidward’s mouth, their lips barely touching - still mere millimeters from Squidward’s face, he could feel Spongebob smile as he pressed his forehead against his own. 

“Just say ‘thank you.’” 

And so he did.


	5. Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squidward and Spongebob attend Squidward's 15-year high school reunion, and a certain monobrow-ed entrepreneur is expecting him.

The night of Squidward’s 15-year class reunion had arrived. Spongebob, through frequent pleading, begging, and dramatic posing, had convinced Squidward to RSVP for the event - luckily, when he called, he only had to speak with Squilliam’s personal secretary (because of _course_ he had a personal secretary.)

Spongebob had arrived at his house earlier than expected - Squidward insisted that he didn’t need help getting ready, but Spongebob, being Spongebob, came anyway just to give him a once over, as well as to show off his own outfit. He had shown up with a garment bag, black dress shoes, and some sort of toiletries case, clad in his usual outfit.

“What do you think we're doing, getting ready for _prom?”_ Squidward said as he adjusted his bathrobe, having only just gotten out of the shower. “Couldn't you have gotten dressed at your own house?”

But before Squidward could utter another word of protest, Spongebob dashed upstairs to the master bathroom to get himself dressed, locking Squidward out of his own bedroom. Thoroughly unamused, Squidward chased after him, rapping on the door when he arrived at the top of the stairs.

“Spongebob, this isn't funny! I still have to get dressed, too, you know!” He tapped a foot on the floor as several minutes went by - eventually, there was a quiet click as his door was unlocked, and without missing a beat, Squidward burst through, ready to give Spongebob a piece of his mind.

However, Spongebob was nowhere to be found within his bedroom - steam billowing from the space between the bathroom door and the floor was a clear indication of Spongebob's true location. Squidward huffed - he had never given his boyfriend express permission to use his shower, but given all of the times he'd intruded on Squidward's bathing excursions, he supposed it was to be expected that Spongebob would help himself. In the grand scheme of things, he decided it didn't really matter - as long as he didn't use his expensive soap!

The glint of metal caught his attention - he directed his gaze to his bed, upon which Spongebob had laid out Squidward's outfit. The golden pineapple tie bar was securely fastened to his new tie, sitting across a bright white, folded, and freshly-ironed dress shirt - his navy blue blazer lay beneath everything else, as well as a pastel pink pocket square, matching the flowers on his tie. Squidward frowned - he didn’t own any pocket squares in that particular color - Spongebob must have provided it from his own personal collection.

“I know how to dress _myself,_ Spongebob!” Squidward shouted, over the sound of running water and Spongebob’s humming. Either Spongebob didn’t hear him, or he was specifically ignoring him - as his singing grew louder, Squidward could only assume the latter. With a scoff, Squidward swiftly tugged at the belt of his robe, undoing the knot in one motion. As the bathrobe fell from his shoulders and onto the floor, Squidward focused his hearing to make sure Spongebob was still showering, mentally calculating how much time he may or may not have before he emerged from the bathroom.

Then again, would it really be _so_ terrible if his own boyfriend walked in on him dressing?

_Oh no, Sponge, don’t look - I’m not decent…!_

Shaking his head and pushing that thought as far back into his mind as it would go, Squidward carefully pulled the sleeves of his button-down dress shirt over his arms. He looked at himself in his full-length mirror as he fastened the buttons, pressing the shirt flat against his chest - Squidward took a deep breath. He could do this - he wasn’t going to let Squilliam ruin his night. Spongebob would be there with him - he’d look out for Squidward, and they’d get through the night and leave it behind them for at least another five years.

The bathroom door popped open, and, accompanied by a cloud of steam, Spongebob strode into Squidward’s bedroom wearing only a pink, pinstriped shirt and his underwear. He grabbed his garment bag from the bathroom doorknob (since it was so short, it could safely hang there without touching the floor,) and unpacked a blazer and slacks - his jacket was a deep purple that, while definitely an unusual color, was understated and highly complementary to his complexion. He held it up on a hanger, showing it off triumphantly.

“Huh? Huh? Whaddya think, Squidward?” He raised his eyebrows, placing his free hand on his hip as he flounced about in his briefs, only just visible beneath the too-long, untucked shirt. “I only pull _this_ baby out when I wanna make an impression!”

Squidward smirked at him, trying and failing to hide his amusement at Spongebob's parading around his bedroom, hoping that he would instead convey his usual irritation - after all, Spongebob had just burst into his house, ransacked his bedroom, _used his shower_ , and was currently prancing all over his room in his underwear (with a very different tone to the situation than last time) and yet, all Squidward could manage to do was laugh.

Spongebob jumped into his black dress pants, tucking in his shirt - Squidward took the opportunity to divert his attention from Spongebob's lower body to put on his necktie, carefully folding the fabric over itself into a Windsor knot in front of his mirror. As he turned to grab his blazer, he was surprised to see Spongebob standing before him, now including pants. Wordlessly, he placed his hands on Squidward's body - Squidward flinched, relaxing into the touch as Spongebob nimbly adjusted his tie bar to rest squarely between the third and fourth buttons of his shirt.

“There...we...go,” he muttered to himself, his tongue poking out to the side. Squidward's temperature rose as he focused on his hands, and his tongue, and his _mouth,_ and there was a moment of silence between them as Squidward briefly considered skipping out on the reunion altogether, and keep doing… whatever it was they were doing.

Unfortunately, they both had somewhere to be - with a cough, Squidward reached for his blazer and donned it, tugging at the shoulders until the garment fell against his body, the straight lines of the jacket playing very nicely to his height and slenderness. There was a tap on his back as Spongebob turned him around, guiding him with his hands.

With his outfit now complete (well, almost - he hadn't put on his shoes yet,) Spongebob had much more going on than the usual charming cuteness with which Squidward usually regarded him - Spongebob was undeniably _handsome._

Squidward felt himself blushing as Spongebob looked up at him warmly, stretching upwards to tuck the pink, fabric square into his breast pocket. Their proximity to each other as he worked brought a whole other element of Spongebob's _ensemble_ to Squidward's attention.

Spongebob was wearing _cologne._

And it wasn't some he had lifted from Squidward's bathroom, either (although it _did_ remind Squidward to put him own on once he was done getting dressed.) He had brought it from home, in his toiletry bag, and it smelled _amazing_ \- Squidward tried not to inhale too deeply (because that would be creepy) as Spongebob was so close to his face; he tried not to get too lost in the bright notes of citrus; he _tried_ \- _Neptune, did he try -_ to keep his tentacles from curling against the rug at the scent of sandalwood as Spongebob tugged at his collar, smoothing the fabric down with his fingertips, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Pulling back, Spongebob admired his handiwork with pride. Squidward found himself nervously sticking the suction cups together on his right tentacle, pulling them apart with soft popping noises.

“Look at you,” Spongebob said, his voice noticeably wavering as he clasped his hands together. “All _dashing_ and _dressed up_ \- you actually look thirty-three!”

Abruptly jettisoned out of the nice moment they seemed to be having together, Squidward scowled, placing his tentacles on his hips and cocking his pelvis to the side.

“Just how old do I normally look?!” But Spongebob only smiled and laughed, tracing the tip of his index finger over Squidward's nose as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Whipping it out, he clapped a palm to his cheek in exaggerated surprise.

“Oh, wouldja look at the time! We oughta be getting going!” Squidward looked on, unamused, as Spongebob adjusted his lilac bow tie and dashed out the door, sock-muffled footfalls rapidly thumping as he descended towards Squidward’s garage. Squidward sighed, rolling his eyes as he dabbed some cologne on his neck.

That sponge was lucky he was cute.

* * *

The drive to Coral City was longer than Squidward remembered, but, to be fair, it had been over a decade since he had visited - his stint in Coral City had only lasted through high school, after all, before he made his way to Bikini Bottom for college. Being both a freshman and the ‘new kid’ made his early years rough - as he merged onto the freeway, Squidward explained that, without friends going into school, he took to focusing on his creative exploits, instead.

“I was in the band, the orchestra, drama club, art classes - you name it, I did it.” Squidward activated his cruise control, keeping to the right and maintaining the posted speed limit as other, less patient boats passed him - he didn’t care one bit if the journey was delayed, knowing Squilliam and his cronies were on the other end. “I guess I needed a way to process the move - new people, new town, all of that. Luckily for me, I actually ended up liking most of it.”

Spongebob hummed, poking and prodding at his shell phone -  he was assisting by navigating each exit and turn, as, although Squidward had made this drive a few times before, it had only been a _few_ times.

 **“IN TWO MILES. EXIT RIGHT TO. EXIT 24-C - CORAL. CITY.”** The robotic voice blared from Spongebob’s phone, causing both of them to grimace. Squidward reached for the radio’s dial and clicked it on, steadily increasing the volume as a lilting clarinet solo pumped through the speakers.

“I think I know the way from here,” he said, gripping the steering wheel more tightly now than he had this whole boat ride. Staring ahead, Squidward peeled from the off-ramp onto the main thoroughfare towards downtown Coral City. The town was a bit larger than Bikini Bottom, and definitely quite a bit more… _vertically_ inclined, with tall buildings and skyscrapers that stretched upwards as far as they could see from behind Squidward’s windshield. Leaning forward, Squidward squinted as he read street signs, familiar names jumping out to him every so often to signal where he should turn.

Spongebob’s hand rested on his thigh - Squidward hadn’t realized it, but he had been almost completely rigid with tension, only relaxing at the soothing touch. One of his leftmost legs bounced up and down as they rounded the final corner, pulling into a public parking garage across the street from Coral City High School - conveniently for them (as Squidward was always loathe to admit,) it would have appeared that Squilliam had bought out the parking garage for the evening, as whatever fee Squidward was about to pay for a night’s worth of parking was waived at the entrance.

Squidward parked the boat in a space on the top level, far, _far_ away from any of the other boats in the garage - he wasn’t going to chance seeing anyone he knew earlier than he had to. Pulling the keys from the ignition, Squidward stared through the windshield at the concrete wall before him - he inhaled, and briskly turned to Spongebob.

“Okay. I can do this - _we_ can do this,” he said, placing his tentacle on Spongebob’s shoulder. Spongebob smiled at him, touching the tentacle on his arm with his own hand. His expression was confident as he nodded in agreement.

“Let’s knock ‘em dead, handsome.”

* * *

The two of them pushed through the front doors of Coral City High School, only to be met by a greeter fish in an unassuming polo shirt and khakis - his name tag read “Dave,” and Squidward shrugged in response to Spongebob’s questioning glance - he couldn’t be expected to know every “Dave” in his graduating class! Dave handed Squidward his own name tag (which he promptly shoved into his pocket as soon as he had his back turned,) and directed them both to the gymnasium, in which the other guests were gathering for refreshments.

Following Dave’s directions, Spongebob took Squidward’s arm and practically dragged him through the fluorescent-lit halls of his own alma mater. Squidward had to break into a jog to keep up with him as Spongebob ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ over every little thing, from lockers to bulletin boards, all accented with red and white to assert school spirit - Squidward always found himself on edge as he walked through the red hallways, the color subconsciously causing a spike in adrenaline. Spongebob continued to pull him through the threshold of the gymnasium, and, thankfully, no one among the massive crowd that was Squidward's class seemed to notice them as they entered.

The gym was decorated from top to bottom - big balloon archways enrobed each exit, and huge banners announcing their greetings and congratulations graced almost every visible vertical surface. A long table at the back of the room held a smorgasbord of finger foods, as well as a punch bowl interspersed with little sherbert islands and a massive “CCHS” made of ice in the center - a projection screen adjacent to the table flipped through a slideshow of generic-looking photos submitted by the attending guests, none of which seemed important or special enough to detract from the intended mingling - Squidward mused with a frown that Squilliam must have screened the photos so that none of them would upstage his event. At the front of the gymnasium stood a DJ booth, its speakers vibrating with popular, upbeat songs of yesteryear.

Squidward peered around, cautiously, trying not to turn his head too much and accidentally draw attention to himself with excessive motion - he exhaled with relief as there was no sign of Squilliam to be seen. Perhaps he was busy getting some _other_ asinine thing ready for the evening.  

Spongebob spun on his heels as he took in the sights around him, and before Squidward had a chance to further assess the crowd situation, he was already being yanked by the arm to the front of the room, towards the left corner, opposite from the DJ. On another long table sat a few copies of Squidward’s yearbook, one of which Squidward expressly did _not_ own, on account of a certain “superlative” for which Squilliam Fancyson was responsible.

...did Spongebob even remember that? He _was_ in “fancy waiter” mode when he and his rival discussed it last - in fact, it took a few weeks for Spongebob to remember _anything_ that he or Mr. Krabs told him after that incident - he was almost completely useless in the kitchen, and Squidward had to pull double duty, as it was _his_ fault Spongebob wound up in such a state.

Squidward was roused from his pondering by Spongebob’s prodding finger on his sleeve - with his other hand, he was eagerly flipping through the pages of the yearbook, bouncing up and down on his toes. With an enthusiastic squeal, he stopped at a two-page spread, featuring an outdoor shot of the entire class. Spongebob pored over the picture, searching each individual face before he stabbed his pointer finger into the book, nearly shrieking with excitement.

“I found you! There’s little Squidward-oh-my- _gosh_ -you’re so _cute!_ ” Squidward casually peered over Spongebob’s rapidly-vibrating shoulder at the photo - beneath the yellow finger was a younger, smiling Squidward, dressed in a striped tank top and comically large, pastel, pink-framed sunglasses. He remembered the day of the photo shoot fondly - his entire class had been given a little leeway on the dress code for the day, allowing them to dress as they wished and express their personalities for the photo. Squidward even took his clarinet to the shoot, holding it up beside him as if it was also a member of Squidward’s graduating class.

“Aww, look at your silly sunglasses! And your smile! You look so happy!” Spongebob snaked his noodly arm around Squidward’s waist, pulling him in for a quick hug. “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Squidward had to agree with him there - this reunion was turning out to be only _mildly_ terrible.

“Hey! Is that little Squiddy Tentacles?” A voice from behind them caused both of them to turn, startled - a tall fish with a name tag that read “Frank” stood with a smaller, shy-looking woman, presumably his date. “I almost didn’t recognize you! You shot up like a kelp weed!”

“Oh, uh,” started Squidward, before clearing his throat. “Hi, Frank.” There was a tug at Squidward’s cuff - he looked down at Spongebob, who was gesturing not-so-subtly with his eyes towards his boyfriend’s acquaintance.

“Oh, right, sorry, Sponge. Frank, this is Spongebob, my uh,” Spongebob squeezed his elbow, which gave Squidward the slight boost in confidence he needed to continue. “...my boyfriend. Spongebob, this is Frank - we were in band class together.” He looked up at Frank, pointing in his direction and raising an eyebrow. “Trumpet, right?”

Frank beamed - his grin was wide and extremely amicable, radiating an energy that was typical of a trumpet player.

“You know it!” He gestured towards his date. “This is Susan, my wife - she’s a transfer from New Kelp City, but I’ll make a Coral City gal out of her yet!”

“Nice to meet you,” said Susan, quietly, sticking out a fin. Spongebob was the first take it, shaking it eagerly with a huge smile. As Squidward shook her hand, with a stuttered “nice to meet you,” he presumed that Frank and Susan seemed like an odd fit for each other.

Then again, he and Spongebob weren’t ones to talk.

Spongebob looked up at Frank, reaching out to shake his hand as well. “So, trumpet, huh? Squidward’s been turning me on to all of his jazz records - do you like Big Barry Blowfish? He’s my favorite!”

“ _Like_ him? I love him! Susan and I went to see him live in concert just last month!”

As Spongebob, Frank, and even Susan chatted away, Squidward felt himself relaxing quite a bit - Spongebob was quite the little buffer, effortlessly making casual discussion with total strangers, to a point from which Squidward could jump, entering the conversation himself. It was suddenly easy for him to talk about his art, or his music, and he even managed to put a positive spin on his job at the Krusty Krab - food service could be a bit of a drag, but he had enough free time to work on his creative outlets, so he could tolerate it for now.

“Ah, I hear you,” said Frank, taking a sip from a cup of fruit punch. “We all have to start somewhere - I thought I’d be designing buildings right out of school, but right now, I’m just some pencil pusher like everyone else.” Susan leaned into her husband’s arm, placing a consoling fin on his shoulder.

Spongebob coughed, tapping Squidward’s arm again to get his attention.  

“I’m gonna get us some punch! Don’t mind me!” Jogging over to the table with the punch bowl, Spongebob hopped in his place in line, swaying back and forth on his heels as he waited his turn.

Squidward waved him off and continued his conversation with his classmate - as it turned out, neither of them were quite where they wanted to be in life yet, and Squidward took some small solace in that. Spongebob had been right after all - there was plenty of time for all of them to achieve what they wanted.

It was at that moment that Squidward heard a familiar, nasal voice, accompanied by the raucous laughter of several others. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the one-and-only Squilliam Fancyson in a red velvet suit jacket, schmoozing it up with his usual entourage - they moved, almost as a unit, across the wooden gym floor, and Squidward hoped to _Neptune_ that he wouldn’t be seen, desperately trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Between fleeting, panicked aside glances, Squidward noted that the social butterflyfish and his posse had vanished from the scene before him, and relaxed with a deep sigh.

Just where was Spongebob with that punch, anyway?

As if on cue, there was a rough tap at his shoulder - he turned, still making idle chit-chat with Frank and Susan, to collect his cup from Spongebob.

At least, that’s what he would have done, if it was actually Spongebob behind him.

But it wasn’t - it was Squilliam Fancyson, in the flesh, his assembled horde of underlings looming behind him like hungry, semi-formally-dressed barracudas. Whatever meaningless words that were leaving Squidward’s mouth at that moment fell flat on the floor as he felt the color drain from his face.

“Squidward Q. Tentacles, I am simply _shocked,_ ” he said, dramatically raising a tentacle to his forehead, as quiet snickers rose from the crowd behind him. “ _Appalled_ , even, that you would come all the way out here from that backwater hick town, Bikini Bottom, and not even say so much as ‘hello!’”

Squidward’s throat tightened as Squilliam sneered at him, his unibrow cocked in its usual, scrutinizing way.

_Play it cool, Squidward - it’s only Squilliam. Sure, he might be more successful than you, richer than you, and, quite possibly, more handsome than you, but he’s still just another 30-something in a room of 30-somethings._

“Sorry, Squidward - they had to refill the punch bowl when I got to it, and there were all of these cute little finger sandwiches, so of course I had to try some-” Squidward whipped his head around, his expression still tight as a vice, to see Spongebob, carrying a little cup of fruit punch in each hand. Squidward swallowed, sweat beading on his brow, as he noticed Squilliam’s focus immediately pivot, his head almost swivelling on his neck to face Spongebob as he spoke - his artificially whitened teeth flashed in an obviously fake smile.

“Squidward,” he said, with mock offense. “You simply _must_ introduce me to your darling little ‘plus one’ here!”

Spongebob handed Squidward his cup before holding out his newly-freed hand for a friendly handshake - if Squidward hadn’t known otherwise, he would have guessed that the naive sponge didn’t know just what he was getting into, but he could tell that Spongebob was testing the waters, so to speak.  

“Howd’ya do, Squilliam? I’m Spongebob, Squidward’s boyfriend! Squidward’s told me lots about you - all good things, of course!”

“Oh, I’m sure he _has._ ” Squilliam merely maintained his confident smile, his eyes half-lidded as his gaze flicked downward to Spongebob’s extended hand - the grin remained on his face, unfazed as Squilliam left him hanging for several agonizing seconds, until Spongebob got the hint and tucked his hand back into his pants pocket. There was a look of satisfaction on his face as Spongebob retracted his hand that made Squidward’s bile rise - he wanted to kick that absolute _lowlife_ in the mouth.

“Tell me, Squiddy,” Squilliam pressed a tentacle to his chest, smoothing down his ascot. “Did you and Sponge-burt here take a good look at the yearbook? I don’t remember seeing an order slip with your name on it way back when - not sure if you got a chance to take in all of m _y_ hard work.”

Squidward placed his tentacle on his hip, sipping at his fruit punch - it was quite good, which was extremely irritating.

“There were plenty of people on the yearbook committee, Squilliam,” he scoffed. “Just because you were on top doesn’t mean you can discount the work of the people under you.”

Squilliam raised his unibrow - Squidward instantly regretted ever opening his mouth. Talking back to Squilliam was extremely dangerous - he had a wit as fast as lighting, and it was just as harmful.

“You’d know something about that, eh, Squiddy?” Squidward flushed, his mouth clamping shut - he balled his fist as Squilliam circled around them, placing an arm around Spongebob’s shoulder. Squilliam bent to match Spongebob’s height.

“You could really do better than _this_ clown, Sponge-bill - _leagues_ better.” Squilliam’s voice was low, but he spoke through his teeth in a way that all of them could hear - his “friends’” laughter started up again, with an abrupt increase in volume. Squidward could see other classmates of his turning their heads to see what all the fuss was.

“Haven't you heard about our Squiddy’s _reputation_ around these parts?”

Before either of them could say another word, Squidward, in an adrenaline-fueled surge of speed, lifted Spongebob off of the ground, carrying him horizontally over his head. “Well! As _fascinating_ as this conversation has been, _Spongebob_ and I are going to take a little tour of the school. Right now.”

Carrying a silent, rigid Spongebob under his arm as though he was a better suitcase than he was a date, Squidward squeezed his way through a crowd of fish and made for the opposite end of the gymnasium, stopping to catch his breath by the yearbook table.

Squidward gently set a very confused Spongebob down - thankfully, they had all of these people behind whom they could hide. He took a few deep breaths - that definitely could have gone better, but there was still plenty of the night left for Squilliam not to ruin, and if worse came to worst… well, he knew where the exits were. Squidward looked over at Spongebob, who was once again leafing through the pages of the yearbook.

“Is Squilliam in _all_ of these club photos?” Spongebob asked himself, briefly glancing at each page.

Squidward rolled his eyes, tapping a foot on the floor as he nursed his punch.

“ _Almost_ all of them - the busy barnacle didn’t have room in his bloated schedule for everything. He didn’t do theatre, for one thing.” Spongebob made it past the club pictures and arrived at the superlatives.

“Looks like he got ‘most likely to succeed…’” he muttered, seeming very unsurprised, tracing over each title with his forefinger. He looked up at Squidward, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “I don’t see you in here, Squidward...didn’t he say you won something?”

Squidward ground his teeth - maintaining the facade that Squilliam was a simple schoolyard bully was getting more and more difficult, but at this point, he was ready to take Spongebob as far down this sea bunny hole as he was willing to go.

“Turn the page,” he said, an edge to his voice that he couldn’t conceal if he tried. Spongebob, one eyebrow raised, did as he was told, flipping the page to uncover a a hastily-arranged two-page spread featuring Squidward’s school photo beneath bright, multi-colored word art, proudly declaring:

“Most Likely To Suck Eggs: **Squidward Q. Tentacles** ”

There were a few beats as Spongebob took it in, his eyes darting back and forth between Squidward and his photo, the look of concern on his face growing more and more severe. “Who the heck let them put this in here? This isn’t the kind of thing you put in the yearbook!” Spongebob’s voice rose in pitch as the crease in his brow deepened, completely shocked that anyone would be capable of publishing such a mean-spirited joke.

“That would be the head of the yearbook committee,” Squidward said flatly, flipping the pages over with an audible slam to reveal Squilliam Fancyson’s name proudly emblazoned in gold lettering on the back cover. “Squilliam was never one for tact.”

Spongebob pursed his lips, his eyes glossing over as if he was processing the information with which he was presented. Squidward gave him a questioning look as Spongebob downed the rest of his cup of punch in one swig.

“Well,” Spongebob said -  almost _curtly_ . “Squilliam _obviously_ doesn’t know how great of a guy you are, Squidward.” He looked back up to meet Squidward’s gaze, the contemplative expression he once bore melting away in an instant to reveal his familiar smile. “We’ll just have to show him!”

There was a lull in ambient noise - Squidward appreciated a moment in which he could hear himself think - before the DJ put on a new song, some summer hit from back in the day, about hanging out with friends and hitting the town with a rebellious attitude. Spongebob perked up as soon as the opening riff hit his ears.

“Holy _shrimp,_ I used to love this song!” Spongebob’s arm shot forward to grab his tentacle, and Squidward suddenly found himself being dragged towards a clearing in front of the DJ, obviously meant to serve the place of a dance floor. “C’mon, Squidward! Let’s dance!”

“W-wait! _Spongebob!_ ”

Squidward, as much as he would have wanted to resist Spongebob’s urging, was powerless to fight his enthusiasm. Sure, cheesy couple’s dancing in public had the potential to be embarrassing, but then again, so did everything Spongebob wanted to do - it was a lot easier for Squidward at this point to roll with the punches. Soon enough, the two of them were smack in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by singles and couples alike, all moving back and forth to the music in varying degrees of awkwardness.

Spongebob released Squidward’s hand and began his own dance, a series of rapid-fire pelvic gyrations and leg lifts, all expertly-timed to the pop music pumping through the speakers. Squidward felt his lips being drawn upwards into a grin as he watched Spongebob’s antics, much like he did at the Krusty Klub - except this time, he didn’t make a single attempt to hide his amusement. Instead, Squidward held his arms in front of him with a wide smile, taking Spongebob’s hands.

While it wasn’t exactly fit for _ballroom_ or _ballet,_ Squidward could make do with the song he had - it was one he knew, and one he actually liked back when he was younger. He lifted one arm - his right, Spongebob’s left - and gave Spongebob a little spin, twirling him with his tentacle from above his head before returning them both to their original position. On the downbeat of the next bar, he let go with one tentacle, this time using the other to spin Spongebob towards him, into his chest. He held him that way, spindly arms crossed in front of him, facing away, and pressed against his torso, as he led Spongebob in a quick side-to-side motion.

Squidward couldn’t help but revel in the contact of his hips against Spongebob’s back as they danced; at the subtle back-and-forth as they moved in unison; at how Spongebob looked up at him, his body tilting back and leaning into him even _further_ just to make eye contact, his eyelids drooping as he bore a confident smile that Squidward could have pegged as _sultry._

Even in his peripheral vision, Squidward saw Squilliam Fancyson at the edge of the dance floor - he _felt_ him looming there, his aura of snobbery and maleficence palpable even from so far away - and Squidward didn’t care one bit, any apprehension melting away as the two danced with each other. His expression bore confidence as he spun Spongebob back out on an offbeat, releasing him from the hold with a syncopated motion as the final chorus rang out around them.

As Squidward pulled Spongebob back to him, situating him across from himself, they shared a look between them that communicated a wordless agreement, a plan, for just how they could end the song - in just a few beats of the music, Squidward took Spongebob from the hips and threw him upwards, quickly catching him and holding him above him in an impressive lift. He held onto Spongebob’s legs by the thighs (contact that had never been made before) as he posed above Squidward in time with the last musical sting.

The sound of applause broke out from all around them as Squidward lowered Spongebob back down to the ground - the dance was so surreal, like a scene from a film; choreographed with a finesse that would betray the improvisation that took place. Back on terra firma, Spongebob - and Squidward, as well - took a grand, sweeping bow; an exaggerated gesture that earned them a few laughs as the next song began. On his way back up, Squidward noticed a distinct lack of red velvet among the crowd and couldn’t restrain a smile - Spongebob’s idea must have worked; if Squidward was happy - visibly, undeniably happy, which he _was_ \- Squilliam had nothing upon which to base his ridicule, and had, apparently, gotten bored with him.

Spongebob was practically glowing - the way he looked up at Squidward radiated such pure happiness that Squidward beamed right back to him, his face nearly sore at being stretched in this way. Still holding Spongebob’s hand, he brought it up to his mouth and planted a kiss, maintaining their eye contact as Spongebob’s grin spread even wider, if that were possible.

“So how about that tour?”

Rejuvenated in a way that only Spongebob could make him feel, Squidward linked their arms and led him through one of the exits, into its corresponding hallway. The two poked into whichever classrooms were open - Squidward showed Spongebob just where he sat in each one, fondly recounting stories of teachers whom he enjoyed, as well as those who gave him a particularly hard time. He showed Spongebob his locker, although he didn’t remember the combination (not that he would open a locker which now belonged to someone else,) and went on about the kinds of things he kept in there, such as a mirror and some smaller art pieces he had finished, affixed to the metal with magnets.

“All right,” said Squidward, urging Spongebob to stand next to him before a set of double doors. “ _This_ is the room where I spent most of my time - the location of the quintessential ‘Squidward Tentacles high school experience.’” He gestured towards the plastic - formerly metal - placard beside the doors, which read “Band Room.”

“Oooooh,” came Spongebob’s voice as Squidward held open the door for him. As he stepped inside, Squidward bringing up the rear, Spongebob took in the spectacle of Squidward’s high school band room, which seemed to be a pretty popular destination for the guests - several were milling about and sharing stories as they entered.

In reality, it was fairly average as far as band rooms went - everything that he was showing off that night was - but the fact that it was special to Squidward made it all the more special to Spongebob.The ceiling was high - tall acoustic pads lined all of the walls, which somehow made the space seem less cluttered than it was, teeming with chairs, metal music stands, and heavier instruments - the sousaphones, for example, or the timpanis - that took up most of the floor space. Spongebob peered downward to see probably one of the only available glimpses of the tile floor, an alternating pattern of red and white.

Zipping back and forth from wall to wall, from the instrument lockers, to the percussion section, to the closet in which the large string instruments were held, Squidward was suddenly eighteen again, vivaciously showing off each and every thing to Spongebob with an excitement he almost never saw in himself. Everything in the room had a story, from the chalkboard behind the band director’s podium to the chair in which Squidward sat for four years, which he was lightning quick to point out.

“Right _here,_ ” he said, pulling the chair back, urging Spongebob to sit down. He plopped himself down on the rigid, metal chair as Squidward hopped up on the conductor’s podium. “From there, you’re living the life, Spongebob - I played my heart out for those four years, and I did it all from that chair.”

“Wow,” Spongebob said, running his hands over the cold metal. It was just a chair to him - it might not even have been the same chair, if they were collected and redistributed - but to a younger, lonely Squidward, it was the world.

“You know,” Squidward said, in a softer voice. “I’ve never stood up here. At the podium, I mean.”

“And..?” Spongebob offered. Squidward frowned, looking out at all of the empty chairs - the other guests were slowly filing out of the room, until only he and Spongebob were left.

“It’s not…” He trailed off, looking down at the score books on the podium - he absentmindedly followed the passages with his eyes, forming the melody in his head. “...it’s not what I thought it’d be like. I’d almost rather be in the chair.”

Spongebob smiled at that - he scooted over in his seat, patting his hand on the metal with a soft _clank_.

“Well, I’ve been keeping it warm for you!”

There was a sudden racket as the double doors clattered together, as they often did. Squidward’s head whipped up at the noise, instinctively, to see Squilliam, standing poised in front of the entrance, his tentacles firmly on his hips.

“Reliving the _glory_ days, _eh_ , Squiddy?” Squidward scowled - he thought Squilliam knew well enough to let alone. Deep down, he knew otherwise.

“Don’t you have party guests to entertain?” he spat, crossing his arms. “I figured we _bottom feeders_ wouldn’t be worth your precious time, Squilliam.” Squilliam only smiled at his retort, but the traditionally happy expression only looked predatory on Squidward’s nemesis.

“Oh, Squidward,” he said, raising a tentacle to his chest with a facetious gasp. “I’m hurt. I pop by to visit my dear friend and his date and all I get is venom shot my way?”

Squidward stepped down from the podium in a visceral bid to close the distance between himself and Spongebob. There was a chilling silence that surrounded the three of them as Squilliam slowly began to advance. Squidward stood his ground.

“I wouldn’t call us _friends_.” The immediate shift in Squilliam’s expression in response made Squidward begin to sweat - his smile widened, but his brow furrowed, as if with contemplation. He cocked his head to the side, unibrow arching.

“ _Oh?_ ” Squidward had only blinked and somehow Squilliam was already halfway across the room from them, his footsteps silent on the tile floor despite the suction cups that were identical to Squidward’s. “What _would_ you call us, Squiddy?”

He was trying to intimidate them - no, he was trying to intimidate _Squidward_ \- but Squidward couldn’t let it show that it was _working._ His blood ran cold - well, colder than normal - as Squilliam’s gaze quietly flickered over to Spongebob, before returning to meet his own.

“Does _he_ know?”

Squidward swallowed audibly - so he was going to bring _this_ up. Squidward knew it’d have to come up sooner or later, but he’d have preferred it on his terms, and not under the apparent duress Squilliam was so abruptly placing them.

“Know what?” Spongebob looked to Squidward with a soft frown, his brows downturned as the tension in the room was becoming thicker and thicker. Squilliam smirked, now situated among the chairs on the floor - he leaned over the back of one of them, folding one tentacle over the other as he gleefully watched the scene before him. “Squidward, what is he talking about?”

Squilliam laughed, his nose wrinkling as air passed through it, before he continued to saunter in Squidward’s direction. He smiled again, his teeth flashing with a quality that Squidward could only identify as malice. On reflex, Squidward took a step back.

“ _Squidward,_ ” Squilliam hummed, drawing nearer still. There were maybe twenty feet between them, and he was closing in more quickly than ever. “Was I really such a terrible _lover?_ ”

He took a deep breath and held it a second, subconsciously trying to appear larger before Squilliam, whose advance wasn't even the slightest bit impeded by the cluttered rehearsal space.

“Again,” Squidward said, breath skittering from his lips as his facade was rapidly deflating. “Not the word I'd use - ' _terrible_ ’ fits the bill, though.” He took another step backwards, trying to maintain the gap between them, but he was quickly running out of room. There was a yellow blur as Spongebob flung himself over to wedge himself between them.

“Sponge, wait-!”

“Squilliam, you need to leave,” Spongebob said, feet firmly on the ground as he shielded Squidward with his arms. His chest puffed out as he stared the interloper down. _“Now.”_

The two octopuses dwarfed him in stature, which mitigated his display of courage - Squilliam pursed his lips and tisked his tongue. He raised a tentacle to his chin.

“I think _not,”_ he said plainly, undeterred. “You know, I thought I recognized this little barnacle from somewhere, and then it clicked; the band leader who humiliated me at the Bubble Bowl; the waiter who made a scene at Squidward's so-called 'five star restaurant…’ every time I try to keep Squidward in his _place,_ you would get in the way!”

In a sudden, jarring motion, Squilliam harshly kicked Spongebob aside, his foot smashing into his gut - there was a piercing crash as he flew into a group of chairs.

 _“Spongebob!_ ” Squidward screamed as Squilliam turned to pursue his latest plaything, and in a rush of endorphins, his own tentacle found its way across Squilliam's face with a deafening smack that resonated through the room thanks to the acoustic tiling. There was silence between them then - the only noise that could be heard was a groan from Spongebob as he struggled to get up from under a music stand.

Squilliam’s face turned to Squidward, his left cheek visibly darkened from Squidward's slap. Before Squidward could even blink, Squilliam charged him, and despite any struggle Squidward could manage, Squilliam had quickly pinned him against the chalkboard, the metal lip digging into his back.

“Squilliam!” Squidward hissed, ducking his head every which way in his grip to try and see if Spongebob had gotten up. “Get _off_ of me! What do you think you're doing?!”

Wordlessly, Squilliam roughly moved Squidward's arms - he had always been rough with him - so they were above his head, holding his wrists in place with a single tentacle. Their proximity was making it impossible for Squidward to see anything but Squilliam, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins was causing his vision to narrow. His heart raced as it was becoming _very_ apparent at to where this was going.

“You're so _pathetic,_ Squidward,” Squilliam said with an sickeningly affable smile that betrayed his actions. “You _actually_ thought you could do better than me - don't you remember the _good_ times we had together? Don't you _remember_ what happened right here, in this room? That _was_ your first kiss, wasn't it…?”

“Squilliam, _please,”_ Squidward pleaded, his voice shaking and hoarse. He wanted so desperately to kick him; to spit in his face; to free himself, but he was completely frozen, the adrenaline spike wearing off and making him complacent. “Spongebob’s hurt, I have to-”

“-he can watch.” Squilliam cut him off, his other tentacle pressing against Squidward's chest, loosening his necktie with a swift yank. Squidward heard his tie bar clatter on the floor. “I'll show him just what he can do with a _loser_ like you.” Squidward felt his legs turning to jelly, his vision clouding with panicked tears and getting worse by the second, growing darker and darker.

Squidward realized with gravity that the darkness that surrounded them his own doing - he had inked, this time as a loose, mucousy cloud that rose and swirled through the water around them, as opposed to the steady stream on his studio floor. But, unfortunately, Squilliam was smarter than the average prehistoric predator, and it didn't perturb him at all. Instead, he laughed, his breath hitting Squidward in the face in puffs that made him want to vomit - he couldn't even hear Squilliam’s voice over the roar of his own blood in his ears - Squidward could only squeeze his eyes shut and wait; wait for Squilliam to have his way with him like he always did; wait to be thrown on the ground when he got tired of him; wait for a _miracle._

There was an ear-splitting smash, coupled with a sharp sting on his forehead, that ripped Squidward out of his thoughts. The grip on his hands had disappeared in an instant, the biting prickle of released suction flashing over his wrists, and he fell to the cold, tile floor as his legs were completely limp. The cloudy swirls of ink that floated around him were visibly swept to the right, and as they dissipated into the surrounding water, Squidward saw Squilliam in a limp heap about ten feet from him, a pool of fresh ink gushing from between his legs. He was surrounded by scraps of splintered wood and broken strings - Squidward studied him, watching for any signs of life. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the slow rise and fall of his body, indicating that he was only knocked out, not dead.

Not that Squidward was actually grateful he was alive - he just didn’t want to go to jail for more years than absolutely necessary.

Standing above him was Spongebob gripping the shattered neck of a cello as if it was a baseball bat, his body and pores expanding and contracting with heaving breaths - tears and mucus streamed down his face as dropped what remained of the instrument on the ground, his wide eyes frantically darting back and forth between his own hands, Squilliam's crumpled form, and Squidward, still collapsed against the wall.

Squidward grabbed the lip of the chalkboard, dragging himself up onto his feet - his legs still wobbled, but he could at least stand - before Spongebob was firmly clamped to his torso, his silence finally giving way to wracking sobs. Still trying to regain composure himself, Squidward could only think to firmly grab Spongebob's hand and _run_ , bursting through the band room’s back exit and into an empty, unlit hallway.

Sprinting faster than he was sure he ever had in his life, Squidward pulled a hysterical Spongebob down one hallway, then another, a left, a right, and another right, before skidding to a stop beside an inconspicuous-looking closet. His mouth dry and his tentacles still shaking, he felt through his blazer pockets for his keys, selecting a plain, silver one from the ring and popping open the door. Shoving Spongebob inside, he quickly pulled the door closed behind them both and locked it.

It was pitch black inside the closet, and Spongebob’s panicked state didn't seem to be helped by it one bit - the sound of his hyperventilating filled the small space as Squidward felt around the opposite wall - his tentacle bumped into another doorknob, which he turned, pushing the new door forward to reveal a narrow stairwell.

“Watch your step,” Squidward said, his voice still raspy from the physical exertion of running all the way here. “There aren't any lights until the top.”

They tread carefully - Spongebob practically crawling up the stairs on his hands and knees - up the flight of stairs to the landing, a tiny room that overlooked the school auditorium through a single, wide pane of glass. Spanning the front edge of the room was an intricate control panel, responsible for all of the lights and electronics housed in the auditorium below - a single, wheeled office stool was tucked beneath the control panel, and an old, dusty desk lamp sat on top. Squidward grabbed the lamp and pulled it with him as he crawled under the space beneath the control panel. Sitting against the wall, he switched the lamp on - it was an old-fashioned three-way lamp, and Squidward kept it on the dimmest setting.

“I used to hang out here all the time and do my homework while the guys in the theatre department worked on their cues. They never asked for the key back.”

At the presence of light, Spongebob could at least see well enough to peel himself off the carpeted floor. He was still having trouble controlling his breathing, Squidward was quick to note, but he was considerably calmer now that they seemed to be safe from Squilliam. Squidward calmly patted the space next to him, inviting Spongebob over to sit with him - clambering over on all fours like an urchin, he made his way into Squidward’s lap.

There were a few minutes of silence - minutes that seemed to drag on for hours - before either of them spoke.

“Squidward,” said Spongebob softly, his voice creaking with strain like an old door hinge, “You’re bleeding.”

Remembering the sharp pain on his forehead, Squidward instinctively reached for it with a tentacle - the cello’s endpin but have clipped him when Spongebob swung it. Spongebob quickly caught his arm with one hand, using his other to remove his pocket square and lift it to the wound. He flinched at the contact, the sting formerly dulled by the surge of adrenaline now back in full force as Spongebob maintained pressure on the cut that was, in part, his responsibility. As Spongebob leaned up to better assess the damage in the low light, his body brushed in front of Squidward’s face - to distract himself from the pain, Squidward found himself stroking the sleek fabric of Spongebob’s jacket, a minor attempt at smoothing it back into place.

He could still smell Spongebob’s cologne - the crisp, citrusy scent provided another island of solace as his mind was still spinning, and he took his first deep breath in a good while just to savor it.

After a few minutes, Spongebob sat back down, returning the now-deep-blue-stained pocket square to his pocket. From the look on his face, Squidward could tell he had a lot of questions, but he looked too spent to ask any. Spongebob leaned with the weight of his entire body against Squidward’s chest, greeted by the soft caress of his tentacle over his body.

“So,” Squidward rumbled, his voice catching in his throat. “I guess the snail’s out of the bag.” It was an attempt at a joke, but neither of them felt much like laughing.

“That you and Squilliam used to date?” Spongebob didn’t move from his spot, merely speaking into Squidward’s dress shirt. Squidward inhaled deeply through his nose.

“I wouldn’t… call it _that_.” He rested his head back against the brick wall, its coolness soothing to the headache that was forming as his body came down from the rush of adrenaline.

“What would you call it, then?”

Squidward frowned, chewing on his cheek.

“We… fooled around a lot.” He sighed, tracing the tip of his tentacle over Spongebob’s forehead. Squidward closed his eyes, his thoughts as well as the throbbing in his head a messy swirl that he was desperately trying to sort.

“It’s… weird. When I was a freshman, he was already established as this talented, popular guy. He was already first chair in band - he was class president. I wanted… so _badly_ to be his friend, to learn from him so that I could be just like him, and he didn’t show me any attention whatsoever - I'm pretty sure he and his friends made _fun_ of me, honestly. At least, until senior year.”

Spongebob lifted his face from Squidward’s chest, turning a bit so that he could breathe a little more freely.

“He kissed you - he was the guy you were talking about.”

“...yeah.”

Squidward didn’t know why he had kept any of this a secret. Maybe, if he hadn’t, he’d be better equipped to deal with… all of _this_.

“He just… up and did it - pinned me against the chalkboard. And then… we hung out. We snuck around. He’d…” He felt his face grow warm as he recalled the details.

“...he’d… you know, _screw_ me. But… he would always go so hard that he’d make me...”

Tears stung at Squidward’s eyes, at just how humiliating it was, both then and now, not only to have been there, but to remember and recount it. He blinked them away.

“...he’d make me ink. He wouldn’t stop until I inked - he knew that inking wasn’t… _part_ of it, but that’s what he wanted, so that’s what he got, even if it… even if it hurt. All while acting like he was doing me some sort of _favor_ \- and the funny thing was that I _believed_ him. I only felt like _somebody_ when Squilliam was with me, which is just what he wanted - he wanted me to base my self-worth on him.”

He felt himself being squeezed - Spongebob was embracing him, stroking his back as he wrestled with emotions that he had been suppressing off and on for years. If he had the energy, he might have cried, but right now he just felt… empty.

“Squidward,” came Spongebob’s voice, soft and soothing despite its weariness from overuse. “It’s not your fault - he took advantage of you.”

“It was all a _joke_ to him!” Squidward hissed, careful not to raise his voice lest someone hear him from outside the control room. “He'd always slink off afterwards and tell everyone what we did behind my back - he'd say I was... _loose_ , that I was _desperate_ , that I would do _anything_ he wanted me to do, and they would laugh and laugh about it.”

Spongebob's hands were on his chest now, smoothing and straightening his necktie. The dim light of the lamp glared off of a piece of metal in Spongebob's fingers - he had rescued the little pineapple from the band room floor, and affixed it to the fabric where it belonged.

“All of a sudden, I had a reputation,” Squidward murmured, leaning into Spongebob's touch. “No one would look at me the same way; my classmates… even my teachers.” He fidgeted with the suction cups on his right tentacle, studying the dark marks Squilliam's suction cups had left on his wrist.

He always did like to mark him up, didn't he?

“The worst part of it, I think,” Squidward said, his voice now a hoarse whisper that matched the buzz of the lamp in volume. “Was that the whole time, I thought we _were_ a couple. Until graduation, he had me thinking that we had a genuine relationship, but he was just using me for a laugh.”

His foot tapped against the wall - Spongebob's leg laid flush with his, providing comforting pressure. “I remember when I told him where I wanted to go to school - he had gotten into some big, fancy conservatory, and I had decided that I wanted to be 'on the scene’ faster; I wanted to be out of school and making art and music as soon as I could, so I was looking into a two-year program.

“I remember how he laughed at me when I suggested that we visit each other at school, to try and make this work - he said he wouldn't be caught _dead_ at some _loser_ school. And then, all at once, it made sense.” Squidward brought his two tentacles together, sticking his suction cups to each other, before pulling them apart with a pop. “We weren't a couple - he didn't care about me at all. He was ruining me - figuratively or otherwise - and using...what we had as a way to keep me down. Maybe he saw me as competition - maybe he saw me as a piece of chum - I don't know.”

The lamp continued to buzz as they lay there - Spongebob snuggled into Squidward's chest, his appearance noticeably disheveled in the light - Squidward could see a bruise crawling its way from underneath his jacket, spreading into the vague border between Spongebob's torso and face.

“We shouldn't have come here,” said Spongebob. His voice was quiet and somber, and he was motionless as he spoke. “I'm sorry I convinced you to go.”

Squidward snaked his arms around him, loosely draping them over his shoulders. “You didn't know. Heck, neither of us could have predicted...whatever that was. It's not your fault.”

“Squidward, he could have hurt you.” His grip tightened on Squidward's jacket, and Squidward heard him sniffle a bit. “Or _worse._ I don't know what I would have done if…”

“He didn't, though,” Squidward said, placing a kiss at the top of Spongebob's head. “He didn't hurt me because _you_ were there for me.” He smiled, more in an effort to make Spongebob feel better than anything. “And see? I'm totally fine, all thanks to you. And who knows? Maybe I'll get a cool scar.”

Spongebob peered up at him, his eyes red and puffy, and Squidward didn't feel the usual churn in his stomach at the sight of him crying. Instead, he kept his sad smile.

“You know,” he began, tracing his tentacle up and down Spongebob's back. “I don't think I got a chance to tell you just how _handsome_ you are in that suit.”

Spongebob sniffed involuntarily, a small, lopsided smile forming in the middle of his face.

“Really?”

“Yep.” He circled his hand over Spongebob's cheek, removing a stray tear. “The octopus blood really brings out your eyes.”

Spongebob jabbed him in the shoulder with a soft, playful punch. He dragged his sleeve over his face, which Squidward was able to tell was now a ruddy pink.

“You're such a goofball.”

“Maybe,” he said, pulling Spongebob closer to him. “But I mean it - you look nice tonight.” He craned his neck forward, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Spongebob's mouth, and another directly on his lips, which he held for a moment, as Spongebob's fingers traced along Squidward's collar.

Squidward pulled back - Spongebob looked up at him with the same, quaint, tired smile, his eyelids drooping and half-lidded.

“I love you, Squidward.”

Squidward blinked as something in his mind seemed to click - he stared at Spongebob as if the simple words had been both something he had never heard before and something he had known to be true this whole time. The phrase was much less a confession as it was a statement, a reaffirmation, of information that was public knowledge. Spongebob had said that he loved Squidward as if it was the most basic, matter-of-fact thing in the world.

“I love you, too,” he said, plain as day, as if it wasn't the most freeing, exhilarating feeling in the world; as if they hadn't just faced potentially mortal danger; as if this wasn't the first time Squidward had ever revealed information of this magnitude to anyone in his entire life.

Spongebob grinned, flashing his buck teeth, and leaned his head back, closing the distance between them again, his lips meeting Squidward's as his hands made their way from his collar to the skin of his neck - he jumped at the contact with a small noise that caught in his throat.

Cupping Spongebob's cheek with his tentacle, Squidward brought him even closer, tilting his head to the right to deepen the kiss. He exhaled at the sensation of Spongebob's nails on the back of his neck, and Spongebob took the opportunity to trace along Squidward's exposed bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. With a grunt of surprise, Squidward broke away, if only briefly.

“You're a little sneak,” Squidward muttered into the small space between them - a smirk spread across his lips at Spongebob's sudden boost in pluck.

“And _you_ are a good kisser,” Spongebob said lowly, before taking hold of Squidward’s shirt and roughly yanking him forward.

Squidward yelped as Spongebob brought their faces crashing together, but soon relaxed, his tentacles trailing up Spongebob’s chest to his face, stroking the sides of his head. The tip of his right tentacle grazed the edge of one of Spongebob’s pores - Spongebob gasped, harshly sucking air through his nose. This time, Squidward took his chance, forcibly pushing his flattened tongue directly into Spongebob’s open mouth.

Spongebob keened high in response, his palms raking over Squidward’s chest. As he arched his back, leaning into Spongebob’s touch, he scarcely noticed the motion of his legs as Spongebob moved to straddle his lap, their lips and tongues colliding as the emboldened sponge brought their bodies against each other.

They were a mess - this was the _last_ way Squidward would have thought to process what had transpired not an hour ago, but as it all was hitting him - and Spongebob, no doubt - at once, he didn't care. Besides, handling stress through this sort of behavior was one of the many handy skills Squidward had picked up during his single semester of college, and it would be a shame not to put it to good use.

Squidward failed to stifle a groan as Spongebob began to grind his hips against him, their lower bodies making constant, _glorious_ contact - the friction of Spongebob's pants against his skin sent flares and sparks through his brain, which only redirected vital, oxygen-transporting blood a bit further south from where it was needed. His hands were situated at the back of his head now, dragging over his skin as Squidward returned the action, gripping at Spongebob's sides and bucking up into him.

There was a breathy moan of Squidward's name as they writhed on the control room floor, dry-humping like hormone-riddled adolescents. Through all of the clothes-pulling, heavy breathing, and general chaos, Squidward was able to feel something… _different_. Something that wasn't, at least to Squidward's knowledge, present before this particular interaction. Something between Spongebob's legs, an area which, based on Squidward's prior experience, was flat and barren as could be.

And that something was _hard._

As Spongebob continued to undulate against him, Squidward snuck a tentacle downward, palming the intrusion - Spongebob’s hips jerked as he touched him, a whimper slipping from him as he continued to kiss Squidward with increased fervor. Squidward leaned back, eyeing him with a wry grin.

“Now, here I was,” he said, carefully studying the way Spongebob's face contorted with tortured pleasure as Squidward gave him a squeeze, “Under the impression that you had no use for one of _these_ \- it must be _new_ …” He continued to slowly paw at the fabric - Spongebob brought a hand to his face and gnawed at a knuckle.

“I… can make one… if I want to…” Spongebob was struggling to speak through his panting and moaning, and Squidward couldn't help but enjoy seeing him this needy.

Squidward leaned forward, pushing the unbearable tingling and throbbing coming from his own nethers to the back of his mind, to brush his mouth by Spongebob's ear.

“...and _do_ you want to?” He breathed, his voice barely audible over the hum of the old lamp.

Spongebob continued to sigh and grind into Squidward's tentacle, so much that Squidward thought he might come undone right there. Suddenly, he gripped at Squidward's shoulders, pushing him back to face him. His face was serious, despite their current… _situation_.

“Do _you?”_

In that moment, after all he had been through - after all _they_ had been through, Squidward absolutely _did_ \- this was something he was _not_ going to let Squilliam ruin for him. Not anymore.

“Get on the chair. I need more room.”

Spongebob obeyed without hesitation, scuttling out from under the control panel and climbing on to the stool as if his life depended on it. He sat, skinny legs spread wide to accommodate the new _development_ between them, as Squidward followed him out - his breathing was shallow as he gripped the edges of the chair, his hips already bucking into the space above him before Squidward had even gotten to his knees.

Squidward placed one tentacle on Spongebob's leg, tightly gripping the left as he slowly, _tantalizingly_ kissed up the right - he ghosted his lips over the tent in Spongebob's pants before burying his face in the crook between it and his inner thigh, the lingering, intoxicating scent of Spongebob’s cologne, as well as his general, clean smell, flooding his senses. Spongebob moaned, quite loudly, and Squidward quickly shot him a look to remind him that they were in public, technically, and he needed to control himself - even if he did _immensely_ enjoy the noises he was hearing.

When it came to the suit pants, Squidward of course had the option of completely removing them, but the prospect of Spongebob completely unraveling while dressed to the nines was _certainly_ too good to pass up. Instead, he dexterously unbuckled his belt with the suction cups on one tentacle, before popping open Spongebob's button and unzipping his fly with his teeth.

Squidward had learned a _lot_ at college.

Now all that lay between him and his prize was the thin, pristinely white fabric of Spongebob's briefs, the fly already being propped ajar slightly by his erection. Squidward wanted to use his tentacles for this part - he wanted to _feel_ him - so he carefully popped Spongebob through the opening and out into the open, careful not to be too rough with the curious appendage.

It was… a simple attempt at a dick, a bit less detailed than the few he'd seen before - also on the small-to-average side (not that he was _complaining_.) Squidward gave it an experimental pump, up and down, with his tentacle - it throbbed in response to his touch, and seemed to have the same porous quality and texture as the rest of Spongebob’s body.

“So,” he asked, purely out of curiosity. “Does it work? Or is it just like, another leg or something?”

Spongebob seemed a bit too distracted by the new sensations at play to answer - he bit his bottom lip at the contact of Squidward's skin on him. He nodded briskly, which left Squidward in the dark, pun not intended, as to which question he was answering, but he took it as a go-ahead.

Massaging Spongebob's thighs with his tentacles, Squidward craned his neck forward, kissing a slow trail up the length, occasionally gracing it with a flat tongue. Breathy, high-pitched noises fell from Spongebob's lips as Squidward worked his way up to the tip - he tilted his head up, sure to look Spongebob directly in the eyes as he took him into his mouth. He loosed a shuddering sigh, his legs twitching in Squidward's grip as he focused on the tip first, suckling it and gauging the feel of it for himself.

A soft mutter of “Oh, sweet _Neptune-_ ” brought Squidward a satisfaction that he couldn't quite express through words - so instead, he just took him further. He moved slowly, all the way to the base, his eyes still looking upwards as he closely observed the changes in Spongebob's expression. Just when Spongebob seemed to settle a little, Squidward chose to keep him on his toes, thrumming his tongue against the underside of his cock - Spongebob gasped, and bucked in a way that could have caused Squidward serious distress if not for the fact that he was holding down Spongebob's legs.

With a contented hum, Squidward began to move, his head bobbing up and down with a steady rhythm. He restricted himself to shallower movements, working the tip and shaft as one of his tentacles moved to twist over the base. Occasionally, he'd change things up and take the whole thing, always sure to look up at him. Spongebob lurched with a whine, his hands shooting forward to grip at Squidward's head. Thankfully, Spongebob kept his nails well-manicured, or else he might have actually caused real damage.

As Squidward pressed onward, he couldn't help but marvel at Spongebob's stamina - not that he considered himself _skillful_ in this particular category, but for someone with no experience, Spongebob was managing himself quite well. The idea of Spongebob perhaps _practicing_ , playing with his new dick; whining, moaning, and pleasuring himself to the mere _notion_ of being intimately involved with him only drove him to increase his pace - Squidward could practically feel his heartbeat between his legs as he was starting to feel a bit _needy_ , himself, but, unfortunately, the act currently taking place was about all they could do without leaving any evidence behind.

The sooner they were done here, the sooner they could get back to Squidward's house - and the sooner he could… better _convey_ just what he wanted.

“A-ah! Squidward…! That… _unf…_ feels so _good…”_

He had him now - he had him _close_ . He feel it as Spongebob throbbed against his tongue - he could hear it in his breath, lilting and rapid. Squidward could even _taste_ the saltiness of his precum as it leaked from his dick - he swallowed, instinctively, which had Spongebob’s voice skipping octaves. He looked back up at Spongebob to see… an absolute wreck. It was as if every muscle in Spongebob’s body was clenching in an effort to keep himself from finishing - his eyes were screwed shut; his brows were creasing; his arms shook as Squidward’s head was being _moved_ by his hands; Spongebob’s hips thrust upward, even against Squidward’s grip, as if trying with complete _desperation_ to bury himself further in Squidward’s mouth.

“S-Squidward - I’m…” He sighed, as if he had been holding his breath this whole time. “I-’m gonna-!”

_There we go!_

Squidward took Spongebob to the hilt, using both tentacles to firmly, if not overly-so, hold his thighs in place. Spongebob jolted, one eye creaking open to assess the situation below him - and, having regained the eye contact Squidward wanted, he _sucked._ Squidward hollowed his cheeks as he applied pressure to the whole of Spongebob’s cock, his flattened tongue rubbing against the sensitive spot beneath the head.

Spongebob let loose a cry that, if it weren’t so incredibly _arousing_ to hear, Squidward might have chastised him for - he came, his voice falling in pitch and crashing at its bottom-most tone as bubbly, frothy cum forced its way into the back of Squidward’s throat. Squidward was a little surprised by the… _texture_ , but he reasoned that if Spongebob leaked bubbles when he was sick, they might have played some larger part in his physiology than he thought.

He spasmed, shuddering with each pulse of his dick as Squidward easily swallowed it, careful not to let any escape his mouth. Convinced he had gotten it all after a few uninterrupted seconds, Squidward slowly retreated his head, enjoying the way Spongebob twitched with oversensitivity at the added stimulation. He leaned back, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve to clear any saliva - Squidward smacked his lips unconsciously as he realized that it had been a while since he had had _this_ particular taste in his mouth - again, not that he was complaining.

Pushing himself up from his knees, Squidward looked down at Spongebob, who was still coming down from, well, cumming. His outfit was completely askew, from his bowtie to the fly of his pants, which he was starting to gingerly restore back to order. He wrenched a hand around his dick, still somehow erect, and gave it a swift yank, coupled with a soft grunt - the appendage popped off, leaving the surface of Spongebob’s body a little rough from where it tore.

“Um,” Squidward started, raising a questioning tentacle - he wasn’t quite sure how to make heads or tails of what he was looking at. “Any particular reason you just ripped it off?”

“It…” Spongebob wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. “Doesn’t… go down.”

“Huh.”

He weakly lobbed it in the direction of the trash bin. It missed.

Squidward, sighed, nonplussed, and stepped over to the discarded member,  pinching it between his suction cups to avoid making _too_ much contact with it, as it was soaked in drool - and possibly other bodily fluids - and buried it between the layers of trash in the can. There was an audible _zip_ from behind him as Spongebob closed his fly, and hopped off of the stool - he stumbled a bit, his legs still wobbly, but he made his way over to Squidward, wrapping his arms snugly around his torso. Squidward placed a comforting tentacle on his head - this wasn’t exactly typical fare for having just received a blowjob, but Spongebob was Spongebob, after all.

His breath hitched at the contact Spongebob was making with his lower body - in the light of the lamp, he could see that a deep blush was forming at the base of his legs. His desire was becoming more and more apparent - not that he was all concerned with concealing it.  He let the tip of his tentacle dip into one of Spongebob’s pores, bending around the edge, causing Spongebob to shudder against him.

“We should probably get going."


End file.
